


Through Briars & Brambles

by sad_goomy



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters: Sun & Moon | Pokemon Sun & Moon Versions
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Bodyguard, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Forbidden Love, GladMoonDay2020, Knight!Moon, Light Angst, Lonashipping, Prince!Gladion, Prompt Fic, Slow Burn, not quite enemies but certainly antagonistic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:41:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 33,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23279560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sad_goomy/pseuds/sad_goomy
Summary: A chance encounter brings them together, but the oath she swears secures Moon’s place at the side of Prince Gladion as his personal guard. With mysterious curses and assassination attempts, somehow the real problem becomes just how much closer she wants to be.
Relationships: Gladio | Gladion/Moon
Comments: 71
Kudos: 52





	1. Rain

The Aether Palace has become an impenetrable fortress over the years, with no one able to sneak past its walls of marble and heightened security since the disappearance of their king. 

No one, that is, except for a scrawny teenage boy who’s lived there his entire life. 

It’s easy enough to get a simple cloak out of his wardrobe, and with the chaos of the upcoming coronation, Gladion slips down the hall and into the servants’ tunnels without a second glance thrown his way. He knows that tonight, just like every night for the past fifteen years of his life, there’ll be a cart full of linens sent past the castle gate and to the docks to be washed. All he must do is wait in the tunnel until the coast is clear, and then he can sneak onto the cart, covering himself with bedsheets and table runners. 

He counts his breaths as he waits, silk brushing against his skin as the cart begins to rumble with movement. Donkey hooves clomp against cobblestone, the path growing rougher as they exit the castle and begin the short trip to the dock. 

Rain falls in slow, fat droplets, making the fabric atop him heavier as they travel. It seems fitting to him that it should rain today, that the entire universe should be thrown into some disarray when they announce his mother is a lost cause, when they push for his coronation only to shove him aside with a regency council, when his entire life is shaping up to be a series of unanswered questions and illusions of control. 

The cart stops, and he can hear the driver conversing with a maid, something about how the weather may push back the ceremony. 

The maid snorts. “Not if that lout Faba has anything to say about it.” 

Gladion smirks as he carefully moves towards the end of the cart, glad that the advisor’s incompetency is clear even beyond the court. Their conversation continues, and he slips out the cart, glad to find the docks relatively empty. No doubt the ships have come in early, for fear of an impending storm, and thee few laundry workers still here are huddled together under the only awning that extends from the outer castle wall. 

At the very edge of the dock, hidden under palm fronds and by the shade of a nearby tree, sits a humble rowboat. Back before their king disappeared, he taught his son some basic carpentry, the two working together to build the little boat. 

Six years have passed since it was completed – five, since Mohn disappeared into the Lush Jungle – but the boat holds up. Gladion gives it a quick inspection, and then he sets out to sea, on a familiar course to Melemele Island, one he’s taken a half dozen times now. 

The rain comes down quicker, sharper now, and his cloak is soaked through within the first half of the trip. A chill settles in his bones as he rows, but he continues, soon seeing the sands of Melemele. He grits his teeth, endures it because at least this way he has something to endure, something to feel in his body beside the ever-present dread of a frozen life away from the world. His mother banned any member of the royal family from traveling outside of the castle walls shortly after his father disappeared; if not for his secret excursions, then Gladion would only know the neighboring kingdom of Alola by childhood memories that grow fainter every day. 

He’s quick to find a spot to dock, an abandoned corner of the empty beach. As he covers his boat once more with the fronds he keeps stowed in the hull, he tries to keep track of time, to calculate how much he has left before the search party is sent. Lillie swore to keep silent about it, could see that he needed this or risked going insane. 

And then he’d another verse in that damned nursery rhyme that they can hear the children singing, about the king who crossed a witch and the queen who lost her head. 

As he walks up to the main road, he can hear the gentle sounds of the market closing up, of merchants hurrying to save their wares and young couples laughing at being caught unawares by the storm. With frown in place, he turns and begins walking towards the volcano. He doesn’t mind the noise, in fact he usually visits the market, but now he needs space, and silence, and to feel like he’s the only person on an abandoned planet for as long as possible. 

There’s a shortcut that he knows, cutting across dense flora. The ground beneath him turns to mud, staining his boots and clinging to them, making the walk slower and harder. It’s no matter for him, barely even registering as his mind swims in thoughts of what the future will bring and what it won’t – what was stolen from him years ago that can never be returned. 

“There you are!” 

A chirp of a voice shakes him out of his reverie, his entire body freezing as a small hand grabs his arm. He looks down, only to find a girl around his age, smaller than him but with a swagger in her walk that more than makes up for the size difference. Her black hair is unkempt, barely kept back as she tilts her head, the smile not quite reaching her gray eyes as she asks, “What’re you doing all the way out here?” 

For a moment, he thinks he’s been recognized, that maybe someone’s finally caught on to his secret trips to the islands, but then she’s forcing him to walk once more, whispering under her breath, “Two men are tailing you. One with a dagger, the other with nothing. Look, but don’t make it obvious, and answer my question calmly.” 

He blinks, looking down at her but finding that her face is set forward with furrowed brows. With a breath to regain his senses, he follows her lead for now, walking and searching in his peripheries. 

“I needed to clear my head.” 

She hums in response, and he finds with a half glance back that she’s right; in his haste to be alone, he failed to realize that two men are in fact following him. By the looks of them, they don’t have a friendly chat in mind, and he curses himself for not bringing his rapier, or at the very least a dagger. Of course, he’s never been attacked before, but then he’s never been so careless. 

A thought occurs to him, and he keeps his voice even despite the shaking beginning to take control of his hands. “And how do I know you are not a part of whatever ploy this is?” 

“Because I would have shot you by now.” 

Another look at her confirms that her other hand is carrying a bow, and a quiver of arrows sits on her back. He also gets a better look at her, at the tattered cloak and torn knees of her trousers. The hand that holds onto his cloak is calloused and worn already, despite her young age, and Gladion can quickly piece together that she must have been hunting for her family’s dinner when she caught sight of him about to be attacked. 

Why she decided to step in instead of keep her head low remains to be seen. 

“At the rate we are proceeding, I think we only have moments before those men catch on,” he mumbles, hearing the squelch of a boot sinking in mud far closer behind them than he’d like. 

The girl cocks a brow at him. “You don’t happen to have a short sword under there, do you?” When he frowns, refusing to look down at her, she hisses, “Do you have _anything_?” 

“If I had known I would be besieged by bandits, then I would have planned accordingly,” he snaps back, nerves on edge as he can feel the presence of the two men encroaching. 

She rolls her eyes, giving a sigh as she slows their steps. “Well then, stay behind me and just work on pulling that stick out of your ass.” 

He makes an offended squawk, more than ready to retaliate, but it’s lost in the mess of noise that begins when she nocks an arrow in her bow and turns. 

The dagger that the smaller man raises is knocked out of his hands as he yelps, grabbing at his now bleeding hand. Gladion dashes for the dagger, quick to pick it up and point it at the man, keeping him on his knees, as the girl turns and points another arrow at the other man, big and burly, but now with his tail between his legs as he holds his hands up. 

“Clearly you two don’t want any trouble,” she says loudly, her grip tightening on her bow as she keeps her gaze focused on the larger man, “And if you have enough sense between the two of you, then you’ll leave me and shark bait alone.” 

_Shark bait,_ Gladion scoffs to himself, though he has little time to fully take offense when she’s in the process of saving him and he’s pointing a dagger at the man with a bleeding hand. He looks up at the young prince, clearly weighing his options as he sizes Gladion up; in response, Gladion puts on his stone face, the one he uses when his mother is having a fit, screaming at him and waiting for him to flinch, and turns his voice to ice. 

“I wonder where you planned to strike,” he says slowly, inching the blade closer to the would-be thief, and letting it drift as he adds with a hum, “I for one, would aim for either the cartoid, brachial, or femoral arteries. All fairly accessible, and grant death in under a minute.” 

The man blinks, letting out a quiet chuckle that falls flat as he looks to the other man and shakes his head. “No, I don’t think we want any trouble.” 

“Then start walking away, nice and slow, and don’t stop until you can’t see us anymore.” The girl keeps her bow ready, walking back to stand next to Gladion as the smaller man stands, the blood on his hand beginning to dry as he raises both hands and begins walking away, the larger man following suit. Gladion lowers the dagger, his left hand shaking as he calms his racing heart, but the girl doesn’t lower her bow until several moments after the two men disappear into the brush. 

When she does, she doesn’t even spare the prince a glance, instead turning to find the arrow she shot. Only now does Gladion realize that the hood of his cloak has fallen, the hook and eye closures having come undone as well and leaving his head and clothes to get soaked by the rain that sneaks in through the branches above. A wind blows, and the shiver it sends down his spine has him remembering himself, the last of the adrenaline wearing off and being replaced by conditioned decorum. 

“You have my utmost thanks, Miss...” 

“Moon.” She lifts the arrow from the forest floor, expecting it for a moment before her gaze slides over to him, giving him an unimpressed once-over. “And is ‘thanks’ all I get for saving your life?” 

He bristles, because it’s been far too long since someone addressed him so crudely, if ever. Still, he does owe her (and she still has that bow in her hand), and so he clears his throat and pushes past it. “If you are able to escort me home, I can have you paid handsomely for your efforts.” 

Moon hardly seems appeased, letting out a small huff as she slings her bow over her shoulder before placing her hands on her hips. Everything about her screams defiance, from the way she lifts her chin to how her boots dig into the earth. He can feel his own annoyance stirring, knows already that the next words out of her mouth will only solidify the fact that’s beginning to take shape – she is the oil to his water, the tree that refuses to bend to his gale, and it’s only been fifteen minutes since they met. 

“Don’t they teach you rich boys anything?” 

He balks, doing his best to straighten his silk jacket and face her with dignity, despite being soaked to the bone and nearly getting himself killed just moments before. Gladion looks down his nose at her, as years of royal training have subtly taught him to do, and his voice is tight and clipped as he scoffs, “I’ll have you know I’m translating foreign poetry, composing original music on piano, harp, _and_ violin, and studying the greatest achievements in astronomy of our time.” 

She raises a brow. 

“I meant anything _useful.”_

Only the sound of rain on a forest canopy fills the silence between them, as he seethes and she waits, her eyes sparking with amusement and annoyance in equal parts. Without another word, he turns and begins walking in the direction towards the beach, deciding that if he’s going to survive a boat ride with this tempestuous girl on the second worst day of his life, then silence is imperative. 

On the other hand, she seems to not be done with poking and prodding at him, like some exotic bird she’s caged. “I mean really, walking around in quiet forests, practically wearing gold, and nothing to defend yourself with? Small wonder natural selection hasn’t taken you out yet.” 

“And a small wonder that your affinity for following complete strangers for the promise of coin has not gotten you killed, either.” 

That certainly shuts her up, and he bites his cheek to hide a smirk as he glances down at her, more than a little pleased to see her scowling. Good, at least one other person is also soaked through by the rain and feeling awful. 

When they get to his rowboat, still safely stowed away, she hesitates. After he tucks the last palm frond into the hull and places the dagger on one of the two seats, he turns to look at her, raising a brow expectantly. 

“Now is your self-preservation speaking to you?” 

“Oh I could take you down, no problem,” she explains, adjusting the bow on her shoulder. “But I promised my mom I’d be back in time for dinner.” 

He rolls his eyes, making quick work of pushing the rowboat through the sand, keeping hold of it as it takes to the water and throwing a glance at her over his shoulder. “Did you make that promise in the same breath that you no doubt promised to stay out of trouble?” 

She hardens her glare, and then she’s brushing past him to climb into the boat, clearly deciding the need to be a thorn in his side outweighs survival. 

“I’m not rowing.” 

“Of course not,” he sighs, and then they’re shoving off, the route clear in his mind despite the rain to fog his vision. 

It’s a quiet boat ride for the most part, as he rows and she looks off to the side, her cloak drawn tight and her chin in her hand. He entertains himself with the thought that she might be considering swimming back to shore rather than spending another moment with him, but she stays seated and they still have a ways to go. No doubt the guards will greet them right at the dock, and he frowns at the thought, at the realization that this may be his last conversation with anyone outside of Aether if his mother has anything to say about it. 

Maybe that’s why he finds himself unearthing some root of curiosity within him and asking her, “How did you learn to shoot?” 

She regards him warily, like she’s sniffing out the twist of the question that will turn her into a joke. He only looks at her blankly, turning his gaze back to the sea because he’s not particularly interested, just mildly curious if her earlier aim was a stroke of luck or training. 

“My father.” She shifts slightly in her seat, giving him a shrug, but he can see the trepidation in her eyes as she tries to find the waves below the boat interesting. “He taught my brother and I everything he could about archery, sword fighting, and the rest of it.” 

He assumes “the rest of it” covers other self-defense, considering that his own education failed to leave much of an impression on her. The towers of Aether begin to come into sight, and he feels his muscles locking, trying to slow his rowing. 

“I am rather surprised that a villager would know so many techniques.” 

It’s the wrong thing to say, and she’s quick to sit back and fix him with an acidic glare in retaliation. “Well this villagersaved your life.” She has a point, and so he tilts his head, not willing to go back on his word but able to concede that she’s at least somewhat right. With a huff, she slumps forward once more, chin in hand and still staring daggers into him, even as she smirks. “Besides, he’s a knight.” 

Gladion raises a brow, shocked enough to stop his rowing completely as he scans her face for any sort of tell. “Of what order?” 

“The Indigo Plateau.” 

He nearly gapes, trying to fathom how anyone related to the girl before him could be a part of the highest order across the kingdoms; it’s unbelievable, and in fact he chooses not to believe it, swallowing his surprise and shaking his head. She looks away, self-righteous smile growing as she adds, “My brother joined him ever since a lord in Kanto became his sponsor. They send us money every month.” 

“And you?” 

“Take care of my mom, help with our shop, and wait for the day when someone recognizes me for the brilliant knight I’m destined to be.” 

He scoffs, unable to stop the bark of laughter before it’s out, resuming his rowing as she frowns at him. “You hardly come up to my chin.” 

It’s quiet, and then he hears a gentle _thunk_ , looking up to see her holding the dagger, having slammed the handle down on the wood of the seat. She lifts it after getting his attention, examining the blade far too nonchalantly as she mumbles, “All your talk of arteries, and you still can’t get it past your thick head that there are other ways to overpower someone besides brute force.” 

His blood runs cold, body preparing for fight or flight as she just barely pokes the tip of the dagger with a finger. “When did you–” 

“When I first boarded. What, you didn’t think I was getting on a boat with some strange man and _not_ claiming every weapon for myself?” She twirls it in her hands, seeming to weight it as it twirls, and she’s far too comfortable with it for his own comfort. When she glances up at him once more, his panic must be clear since she rolls her eyes, setting it down beside her. “Oh relax, I’m not gonna pull anything. Wouldn’t be worth it, since you’re obviously some noble.” 

With a smile at this private joke, one he decides he won’t explain yet, he asks, “What gives you that impression?” 

“Your clothes for one. And how you carry yourself, you have this sort of...’air’ about you, that all hoity toity courtiers from Aether have.” She waves a hand around, trying to make the abstract concrete for a moment before giving up. 

He feels his chest puff, something sensitive and spiky immediately striking. What she's describing sounds far closer to how he imagines Faba, and the comparison leaves a rancid taste in his mouth that he’s desperate to rid. “I do not.” 

She smirks, seeing him on the brink of something and deciding to give him the final push – she reminds him of a cat in that way, this urge to create chaos in his ordered world. Something in how she grins, too, is feline, languid and coy and slipping away just before he can grasp it. It’s all the more reason to dislike her, to force himself to keep up his rowing so she can get her reward and they can part ways once and for all. 

“You do. It’s the sort of air that if you took a shit in the middle of the street, you’d expect people to fight over who gets the _honor_ of wiping your ass.” 

Gladion chokes on air, and Moon chuckles at his expense. He regards her with mild horror, voice grave as he mutters, “There are no words to describe you.” 

“There are plenty, so I guess that education’s gone to waste.” 

They share a final glare, and then the docks are coming into view and she’s turning in her seat to focus on that rather than him. He keeps a steady pace rowing, spotting Wicke waiting for him, swathed in a spotless gown of pink and white, two guards flanking her. Of course, she’d be the one to figure out his little routine, and he decides it’s well enough that she did, because he hardly thinks he’d be able to handle any other court member right now without biting their head off. 

When they reach the dock, one guard immediately begins tying up the boat, the other stepping forward to offer Moon a hand, one she pointedly ignores as she steps onto the dock. Gladion rolls his eyes at the little performance, and then he’s smirking, knowing exactly what’s to come as he joins them on the dock. 

“Your Majesty.” As Wicke curtsies, the two guards bowing, Gladion only watches Moon, waiting for her reaction. 

And react she does, as she turns to look at him, jaw nearly reaching the waves below with how far it drops, her eyes wide enough that he can see her going over the day’s events, no doubt wondering if she’s accidentally committed any offenses worthy of the gallows. 

Wicke ignores her reaction, instead focusing her kind gaze on the prince as she shakes her head, her tone mixing a sigh with a giggle as she explains simply, “I had told Lord Faba that you would return in due time, and he shall so hate being wrong.” 

“I am sure I will not hear the end of it.” He’s hardly looking forward to the lecture, although now that he thinks of it, he’ll enjoy counting the veins that pop in the man’s forehead. So long as his mother stays in her tower – and with the state of her health, she will – then he can endure whatever verbal lashing the incompetent advisor whips up. 

Only then does Wicke turn to Moon, who by now has composed herself, regained at least a little of that previous cockiness, which is a shame in Gladion’s mind. “And pray tell, who is this?” 

“Moon.” She falters for a moment, and then stumbles into a sort of half-curtsy that has the prince nearly snort as he adds, “I was set upon by bandits, and she helped me.” 

“Helped?” The guards off to the side exchange a look, clearly uneasy with the downright pugnacious jab, but she ignores them, turning to face Gladion head-on. Whatever shock or awe that was set upon her by his reveal is long gone, and he misses it already as he’s faced with her face as it’s twisted by irritation. “With all due respect, Your Majesty, if it weren’t for me you’d be naked and unconscious in the middle of Melemele.” 

He holds her stare, frowning back in equal measure as the silence between them stretches out. The rain is letting up now, robbing them of that simple noise to fill the space. The guards are exchanging another look, and then they’re glancing at Wicke, who regards the little staring match before her with an amused smile and the beginnings of an idea forming in her head. 

She speaks up, drawing the attention of both teenagers as she gestures to the path to the castle gate. “Rest assured, you have our gratitude, Miss Moon. Now, let’s retire indoors and warm you both up before you catch cold.” 

As they begin their walk, Gladion’s grateful that everyone in the surrounding village is still shacked up out of the rain, but the moment they enter the castle, he can hear the whispers of reprimand and pity in equal measure swirling around him. He holds his head high, knowing better than to grace the gossip of the court with any more fuel for their fire. 

Beside him, Moon shamelessly scrutinizes the palace, though she seems to have folded in on herself, shrinking in the face of such grandeur. She mumbles something under her breath when they pass yet another tapestry depicting a scene from the Aether legacy, but the prince doesn’t catch it, and he knows by now that any conversation started with her will eventually lead to a fight. By now, he’s exhausted, worn down and nearly ready to accept defeat in the form of a crown that isn’t really his in a sham of a ceremony within the week. 

“Now, I do believe a reward is in order, but I have something far better in mind,” Wicke says as they approach the dining hall and leave the watchful eyes of the courtiers. She glances back at the pair, eyes landing on the girl. “That is, of course, if you’ve ever considered a life in knighthood, Miss Moon.” 

Gladion shakes his head with a sigh, as though he’s dealing with a fussy child; in his mind, he might as well be. “She claims her father’s in the order of the Indigo Plateau.” 

“I’m not lying.” Her voice is a razor, and she stops, thinking for a moment before she grits through her teeth, coating the blade in an acrid poison, “ _Your Majesty.”_

He very nearly sets upon her, deciding he’s not exhausted in the slightest if it means salvaging the garbled mess she’s made of his title, but then Wicke interrupts him, sends his stomach sinking along with his last hope for restoring order within the walls of Aether. 

“Then if you would like to follow in his footsteps, I believe we can come to an agreement over a new position amongst our soldiers.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gladion: you're the worst  
> Moon: no you are  
> Me: actually you're both insufferable teenagers and will have to go through a period of growth in the next chapter
> 
> anyway here's the start to this week! tomorrow will be "slow burn"


	2. Slow Burn

Today is going to be another in a series of very bad days for Gladion. 

They all started the day Moon accepted Wicke’s proposition, and she was moved into the castle and swearing an oath in record time, so that she could stand at the dais during his coronation, her first day as his personal guard. 

It’s all gone downhill since. 

“Elbows in.” 

He frowns, tucking his elbows in as he holds a practice sword. It’s nothing more than a few pieces of wood stuck together, but it still leaves a sting on impact – he should know, considering he’s been on the receiving end of nearly every blow this afternoon. 

In the weeks following his coronation, Wicke has taken it upon herself to assign Moon as his sword and archery instructor. She claims that the girl will be able to get through to him better than the tutors who tend to bend over backwards to praise him. Her advice will also be more practical, gathered from her father, who is in fact a knight of the Indigo Plateau, and her own experience. 

Gladion doesn’t particularly care about that when he’s sweated through his tunic and her voice is grating on his ears, her tongue loaded with barbed reprimands that add to the bruises collecting on his body. 

They’re in the training courtyard that the other knights use, and he’s thankful that none of them are around to witness his litany of losses. Over two hours have passed, and he’s managed to land a handful of hits, while she’s knocked him down, pinned him, and knocked the sword out of his hand more times than either can count. 

She blocks his next strike, watching as he lunges back into a defensive stance. Her brows furrow as she frowns, shaking her head; she has the audacity to close her eyes during it, too, to suggest that even in the middle of a fight while she’s distracted and unable to see, he won’t land a hit. 

The worst part is that she’s right. 

“Your stance is too narrow.” 

He huffs, glancing down at his feet before rolling his eyes at her. “No, it isn’t.” 

“It’s not?” she mocks, her voice pitching up an octave just to irritate him further. Then she’s moving, and he doesn’t know how any person can be so fast, but she’s practically a blur, distracting him with a strike to his side that he blocks, only to side-step him and kick the side of his knee. It’s not enough to truly hurt, but it’s more than enough to throw off his pitiful balance. 

As he rolls over on the dirt, blowing his fringe out of his eyes, she bends over him to smirk, the sun outlining her in a vicious halo. “Care to change your answer?” 

“Care to watch that tongue of yours?” 

“Don’t ask questions that you won’t like the answer to.” 

Her words strike a familiar chord of aggravation within him, because this sword fight is the epitome of his experience with her. Even when he swears he’s winning their little battles of wits or useless competitions of trivial knowledge, it feels like she ends every bout with a punch to his gut. She fights dirty, like no one he’s ever encountered in the palace, and he’s ill prepared. 

She straightens, allowing him to stand as she walks back towards the center of the courtyard, giving the sword an unnecessary twirl – she's an expert in finding the quiet, subtle ways to gloat – before placing both hands on the hilt and widening her stance. 

“Once more.” 

Neither of them know how to quit, but whatever common ground Gladion has dug up has quickly turned into another area for fighting. He walks towards her, dodging a swing at his leg and setting off a series of blows that she parries. 

“I could have the head of our knights train me,” he says, feeling a burst of adrenaline when he realizes he’s forcing her to walk backwards. If he can keep this up, then he can have her backed into a corner and a much easier target. 

But of course, she senses that train of thought before they reach the edges of the courtyard, and with a shift of her foot she’s pushing his blade up and out, buying enough time to circle around him. 

Her voice isn’t even breathless when she responds, as if they’re taking a stroll and not in the midst of their hundredth battle in a row. “That would directly disobey Wicke’s orders. Keep your knees bent.” 

He takes the correction with a sigh, quickly facing her as she swipes at his head, forcing him to duck down and not giving him enough time to dodge the blow she land’s on his stomach. The air is nearly knocked out of him, and he’s forced back several steps, and he feels something within him snap. With the beginning of a growl forming in his chest, he goes for a two-handed strike at her neck, and when she blocks it he refuses to budge, instead trying to use his strength to overpower her. 

They’re locked together, inches apart and panting in each other’s faces as he pushes on her blade and she matches his force, bringing them to a stalemate that neither will break. With a sneer, he stares into her eyes. “I could best you, even just once, and prove that I’m past the limits of your teaching.” 

“I’d like to see you try.” Her gaze hardens, flickers to his hands, and then she uses his own force against him, side-stepping and swinging her blade so that his goes flying out of his hand and halfway across the courtyard. He can’t help but yelp, nursing his left wrist, as he tries to massage whatever muscle she’s just rolled. 

With a smirk, she steps back, jerking her chin towards the blade to signal him to go pick it up. A hot wash of embarrassment drowns him in every step, but he bites his tongue, deciding that it’s in his best interest to not rile her up as he picks up his sword. If she can just keep herself from getting too cocky, then he can keep his competitive streak in check. He has to behave in a manner befitting of his status, and while she may play dirty, he will not stoop to her level. 

Then she just _has to_ go and roll her eyes, inspecting her nails as she mumbles, voice coated in condescension and boredom, “Your grip is slack, fix it or you’ll break your own wrist.” 

“I could have you dismissed,” he huffs, because for all his posturing, he’s still a sixteen-year-old boy being beaten by a girl a year his junior and several inches shorter. 

Moon digs the wooden blade of her practice sword into the dirt, one hand on the hilt as her other goes to her hip with a sigh. Clearly, he isn’t the only one who’s annoyed with how their practice session – and their relationship in general – is going. “You should have thought of that _before_ I swore fealty. Now we’re stuck together, Your Majesty.” 

If that’s the case, then he needs to get at least one win on her this afternoon, and so he enters his starting stance once more, begrudgingly remembering to keep his elbows in, per her incessant corrections. 

“Together it is, then.” 

* * *

Unfortunately for Gladion, his sister takes an immediate liking to the new knight; so much so, that as the months pass and spring arrives to Aether, she insists on the three of them spending every possible afternoon out in the garden. It’s fallen into a bit of neglect over the years, now more a meadow than anything with structure, but Lillie has started to oversee its reconstruction. 

It was Moon’s idea, and it’s one of her only ones that Gladion actually enjoys, because it’s the thing that actually has Lillie confident enough to step outside. He can see her regaining herself, day by day, her worried eyes more often being replaced with a warm, soft haze of hope. 

A stark contrast to the state he finds himself in, constantly glaring and huffing and just waiting for the years to pass so he can truly ascend to the throne, so he can stop being forced to watch others as incompetent as Faba keep his small country barely afloat. He’s taken to writing up plans, advancing his own studies in the meantime, so that the moment the regency council steps aside he can begin building the future that Aether truly deserves. 

This afternoon, he’s on an old bench, reading a history of Aether’s monarchs in the shade of a koa tree. 

At least, he would be, if the conversation his guard insisted on having with his sister didn’t interrupt his thoughts at every moment. 

They’re sitting a few feet away, Lillie in a linen dress, a field guide of flowers in her lap as Moon sits beside her, looking out of place with her leather chest plate and bracers. Her cloak, the brilliant emerald green of Aether nobility, sits discarded behind her along with her sword, the fabric far too heavy for her to be wearing as she sits in a patch of warm sunlight. Her skin glows in the light, and her hands are busy with something that Gladion can’t see. 

Lillie plucks one of the flowers beside them, holding it up for the knight's inspection as she hums in thought, “And this is chamomile?” 

“Correct again, Your Majesty.” Moon gives her a smile, one that she’d sooner die than give Gladion, and then her eyes go back to whatever is in her hands. “You’re a quick study.” 

His sister shakes her head, twirling the little chamomile flower in her fingers, lost in a thought. “I simply find it fascinating, and you explain it all so well. Did your mother teach you?” 

Moon hums. “Everything I know about it.” 

Another reason why the two have got on like a house on fire is the apothecary shop that Moon’s mother owns. Lillie has always had a fascination with medicine, with finding things to soothe their mother when she’s in the middle of a fit or complains of new symptoms. With her entire childhood spent amongst natural remedies and poisons, Moon’s nearly encyclopedic knowledge quickly dazzled the princess. 

“Remind me, what use is chamomile?” 

“To calm the stomach and the mind. We usually prescribe it in the form of tea.” Gladion peeks over his book, and sees that Moon is finished with what she’s working on, holding it up for her inspection and high enough that he can see what it is. It’s a chain of chamomile that forms a delicate circle, if a bit sloppy. 

Lillie tilts her head, eyes sparking with curiosity. Gladion bites back a smile and forces himself to look back down at the pages. “And what are you doing with it now?” 

Moon turns to look at her, grinning as she holds it out and declares, “Making a crown for a princess.” 

The two young women giggle, the princess bowing her head and allowing the knight to place the crown of chamomile on top of her head. The white of the petals is blinding in the sun, and the yellow centers complement her pale gold hair nicely. 

“You’ll have to teach me this as well,” she says, reaching up with one hand to gingerly feel the flowers, adjusting it to sit slightly lower. With a glance towards the bench, her smile grows impish as she leans closer towards Moon, whispering loud enough for Gladion to hear, “Shall we make a crown for my brother?” 

Moon chuckles, looking over at the prince as he buries his nose further into his book. “You’ll have to make it. His Majesty wouldn’t be caught dead in anything I gave him.” 

He glares over the top of the page, brows knitting together. “At this rate, I _will_ be caught dead, with my personal guard frolicking in flowers.” 

Her face turns grave, as she nods far too solemnly. “Ah yes, the dandelions are planning a coup as we speak. Truly, you couldn’t be in more danger if you tried.” As Lillie bites back a giggle and Gladion scowls from behind his book, she stands, lifting her cloak and clasping it on. She gives him a mock salute after belting her sword once more. “I’ll stomp on them at once.” 

“I can still throw you in the dungeon.” 

“He won’t,” Lillie says quickly, throwing her brother a look. Before the knight can get more than a few steps away, she turns and calls out, “And Moon?” 

The girl turns with a hum, and Gladion’s stomach sinks as his sister asks just about the worst question she could. 

“You’ll take your meals with us from now on, won’t you?” 

He has few reprieves from Moon, and those are his sleep and his meals. While he eats in the main dining hall with Lillie and a few members of the royal court, Moon takes her meals with the other knights, granting him some temporary peace three times a day. 

There’s some safety in his assumption that as much as he might look forward to not seeing her, she must feel the same, but when she steals a glance at him, her gray eyes are warm with mirth. 

She inclines her head in a bow towards Lillie, replying smoothly, “If that is what Her Majesty wishes.” 

“It is.” The two share a smile and then the knight is off to patrol the area, leaving Gladion to glare at his sister. Lillie feels his eyes burning the back of her neck, turns to see that he’s put his book down so she can feel the full force of his displeasure. She scoffs, shaking her head as she stands to walk closer to him. “Oh, don’t pull that face. I enjoy her company, and she’s good for you.” 

“I beg to differ.” 

“Say what you will, but I haven’t seen you this lively in years.” She stops in front of him, looking off in the direction that Moon walked, checking that she’s out of earshot before turning to her brother with a smile that tells him she knows far too much. 

“I think she’s a voice you’ve been needing to hear.” 

He blinks, her words sinking in as she takes a seat next to him, pleased with herself and cracking open her field guide to review. 

It’s true enough that she’s far different from most of the people he’s interacted with over his life, and there’s something that could be refreshing in that. Her perspective is crude, but practical, and there’s no one who’s been able to keep up with him as well as her. Not to mention the small wonders she’s worked with Lillie, bringing the girl out of her shell in a little less than a year, and that alone should be reason enough for him to feel grateful to have her. 

But then he remembers that smirk, that laugh when she’s hit a bullseye and his arrow goes sailing twenty feet to the right, and he’s frowning as he lifts his book once more. 

“Remind me to buy earplugs.” 

* * *

He starts to visit his mother more, a year before he comes of age and can truly begin his rule. Wicke suggests it, Lillie softly encourages it, and Moon cuts through his excuses in the way only she dares to. 

It doesn’t get easier, no matter how often he climbs the tower steps and sits by her bed, the physician nearby and Moon outside the door in case things go array. Lusamine attacks him once, screams at him like he’s some beast form her nightmares, and his heart races as he watches the mother who raised him, the mother who used to love him, lunge for him like a feral animal. 

She hasn’t done it since, and he does his best to remind himself that she’s not in her right mind, that of course there’s a part of her deep inside that’s still wholly human, unaffected by whatever poisons the rest of her. 

His search for a cure becomes more desperate. 

Tonight, his sleep is plagued with scattered dreams of childhood memories, the face of his father, and the look in his mother’s eyes – venomous and vacant – as she stares right through him like a ghost. 

He wakes with a start, lights a candle, and makes his way to the library as the rest of the palace slumbers. 

Or so he thinks, because he very nearly has a heart attack when he rounds the corner of a bookshelf and finds someone already sitting at his favorite desk. 

Moon scrambles in her seat at his gasp, jumping in her skin as she tries to shove whatever she’s set up into a pile behind her back, facing him with a deep frown as she snaps in a whisper, as though they might disturb anyone else, “What’re you doing here?” 

He balks, green eyes narrowing as he matches her harsh whisper with one of his own, twice as indignant and confused. “It’s _my_ library. What are _you_ doing here?” 

“Nothing.” 

But then she’s reaching behind her, trying to shove a slate board and piece of chalk out of his view. He lifts the candle, the light joining the lantern on the desk to illuminate the pile of scrolls and books she’s trying to hide from him – all for children, leftover from the days when he was first learning the alphabet. 

It clicks in his mind as his eyes widen, looking back down at her as Moon lowers her gaze, cheeks engulfed in a blush. 

“You’re teaching yourself to read and write.” 

“I’m not stupid.” He blinks at the vitriol in her voice, and she puffs up her chest, now refusing to drop his stare as she continues with a frown, “I only know the names of medicines, and a few basic phrases, because some of us can’t afford our own library and tutor. But I’m not stupid.” 

“I didn’t say you were,” he replies slowly, still confused, but she’s rolling her eyes. 

“You don’t have to.” 

He thinks back on the past year and a half with her and begins to see what she means. Their jabs have cooled since their first months together, and their fights are less abundant, but he never passes up an opportunity to one-up her. It’s become easier as his physical abilities have improved under her teaching, but even back then, it’s shockingly clear to him that their battles weren’t such one-sided attacks and victories as he once thought. 

In the heat of the moment, he always had a quick justification for whatever he spat at her, but now in the dim light and quiet of the library, he’s hard pressed to find anything she’s actually done wrong. 

There’s also the harrowing realization that the closer he gets to his next birthday, the more likely his life will be threatened, and it can’t hurt to try and make some amends with her. 

“I...I do apologize.” He sighs, looking down and missing the look of shock that twists her face as he adds with a frown at himself, “If I’ve insulted your intelligence in the past, then it was only out of a misguided attempt to defend my own.” 

She scrutinizes him, the shadows that the flicker of his candle’s flame cast. When she finds no cracks in his remorse, no moment when he’ll twist his words into a verbal spar, her shoulders deflate, and her face relaxes. Her lips nearly pull into a smile as she whispers simply, still slightly stunned, “Thank you.” 

The air between them shifts, seems to lighten in that moment as an unspoken understanding settles. He nods, and takes another glance at the desk, debating where he should set down the candle in order to avoid catching fire to the plethora of paper she’s collected. 

Moon follows his gaze, making as if to stand and gather everything up. “I can take my leave, if you’re planning to stay.” 

“It’s fine. Stay as long as you like, so long as you get enough rest to be of use tomorrow,” he tells her, waving her off as he instead settles the candle on the ledge of a nearby window. Once that’s taken care of, it illuminates the spines of tomes on the shelf he’s looking at, a collection of medicine journals kept by generations of royal physicians. 

As he finds the one he had in mind, taking it off the shelf and slowly leafing through the pages he skims, she watches in silence, chin on the palm of her hand and her studies forgotten. Whether it’s his apology, the reality of his life that she’s now witnessed, or simply time, she finds that the thorns she once faced him with have softened, even fallen off. All that’s left to replace them is her curiosity, the same force that drove her to poke at him in the first place. 

“You never answered my question.” 

Her voice is so quiet that he thinks he might have imagined it, but when he looks up from his book, he finds her staring intently at him. It sits oddly with him, but he clears his throat, deciding that it’s been an odd enough night that he’ll indulge her. 

“You’re aware of my mother’s condition?” 

“Only bits and pieces.” 

“As with the rest of us.” He snaps the journal in his hands shut, feeling his brow twitch as the familiar well of frustration boils within him. As he slides the tome back into its place on the shelf, intent to pick another and try again, he explains, “She speaks in riddles and incoherent phrases now and try as we might to piece together what happened that night to find the proper antidote, we’ve had no luck. Today, she mentioned something about ‘a burn that spreads’ and ‘leaves of three.’” 

“Leave it be.” 

He pauses, hands ghosting over the spine of a journal as he turns and looks at her with wide eyes. “What did you say?” 

“Leaves of three, leave it be.” She shrugs, as though she hasn’t just solved the riddle that’s been haunting him all evening. “It’s a rhyme we teach the children in Iki Town to help avoid poison ivy. Not particularly abundant on the islands, but it tends to pop up in the jungle and causes a rash that’s easy to spread.” 

“Well, that answers that mystery, then, though it leads us no closer to the truth.” With a sigh, he leans back against the bookcase, the shelf digging into his spine. He’s too focused instead on trying to think of what else he can research tonight, remember everything his mother has ever said to him in an effort to discern fact from derangement. 

She looks down at the slate board, looks back up at him, and then takes a deep breath before she whispers, “I’m about to say something out of line.” 

“Are you asking for permission?” 

“No, it’s a warning.” 

He rolls his eyes, far too used to her speaking her mind at his expense anyway. When he focuses his gaze back on her, however, her smirk is gone and she’s fidgeting with the piece of chalk, coating her fingers in the white powder as she slides it from hand to hand. 

The chalk stills, and she looks up at him, and he’s never realized that her eyes are such a dark gray, like a sturdy steel forged in a fire. 

“I don’t think she did it.” 

Immediately, he knows she’s referring to that night, to the schoolyard rhyme and the rumors within the castle walls. His body stiffens and his left hand shakes, a response his body has encoded since his mother first returned without their father. Since he first had to fight for his legacy. 

With her time at the palace, with trailing behind him at the same pace that the whispers of “murderous queen” and “family madness,” of course she would have an opinion. He just never suspected it would be this one. 

She gauges his reaction, but he makes no move to stop her and his face is composed as ever, and so she continues slowly, “Granted, I was a child at the time, but everything I’ve seen since then suggests that she really did love Mohn. And we have countless stories about the dangers of that forest in Ula’ula. I think they must have run into one.” 

“Like what?” he mumbles, head still spinning from the revelation that whatever contempt she has for him has a different source than he imagined. 

She lifts the piece of chalk, uses it to gesticulate as her eyes alight with an idea. “There’s an old witch that lives in a banyan tree who – oh don’t give me that look.” 

He makes no move to wipe the deadpan expression on his face, instead simply adding a roll of his eyes, as he always does when she starts spouting nonsense. “I would rather not base my mother’s medical care on the belief of magic.” 

“Y’know, there’s a reason the people of Alola aren’t too fond of you all.” He blinks, taken aback as she frowns at him, that one spark in her eyes that signals she’s not putting up with him. She slams the chalk back onto the slate board, white powder flying into the air around her hand as she tells him, “For all the times you shove scientific theories about things you can’t prove down their throats, you still turn your noses up at our own legends and customs.” 

The silence is deafening now, the flicker of the lantern casting harsh shadows on her face, outlining how her features have sharpened, the silent fury she’s had buried in her eyes ever since she moved into the palace. 

“They’re not stupid either.” 

A voice – Lillie’s, he realizes – echoes in his head about a voice he needs to hear. He holds her gaze, emerald against steel, and he finds that her stubbornness matches his own, though the course of her life has shaped it differently. A course of life that he knows nothing about and would do well to learn before he ascends to the throne officially. 

There’s a lot he doesn’t know, and while he’s still learning to admit it out loud, he can at least admit it to himself in the dark of the night. 

When she’s satisfied that she’s made her point, she takes a book off the top of her pile and opens it to the first page, chalk back in hand as her finger traces the words, lips forming sounds silently. It tugs at his heart in a way, reminds him that there are things she could stand to learn, too, maybe in the same moments in which she teaches him, and an idea occurs to him. 

“I could help you.” She pauses, looking up at him with a raised brow and daring him to go on. Not one to turn down a challenge from her, he walks towards the chair on the opposite side of the desk as he explains, “When Lillie was learning to read, she refused to see a tutor because she was distraught over our parents and painfully shy. I may not be the best teacher, but I can at least help you learn the basics.” 

She’s still suspicious, slowly rolling the chalk in her fingers as she sits back. “And what will it cost me?” 

“Having to spend more time in my presence that so disgusts you,” he replies simply, missing her furrowed brows as he pulls the chair back, looking to her for the final say with a smirk. “And occasional homework.” 

Her eyes flicker with something he can’t catch in the lantern light, and then she’s nodding with a grunt. He sits down, pulls the next book off the pile to familiarize himself with the material once more and to gauge what level her reading and writing are at. She continues with her own book, sounding out another word, though it takes her longer than it should as her mind clouds with thoughts. 

When she looks up at him, at how he’s helping her for no personal gain, at how he spends his nights worrying over a mother and a kingdom and no doubt the state of the universe itself, a pang of guilt shoots through her. It lands on the bullseye, right in her gut as she swallows her pride. 

“You don’t disgust me.” 

“Well then you’ve had me fooled.” He doesn’t look up, but he faintly hears her voice, so low that even in the silence he can’t pick it up. “Beg pardon?” 

“I said you intimidate me.” 

Now he watches her, eyes wide with shock as he wonders what else he’s misread about her. She fidgets under his gaze, and he can see her nearly getting her claws out to strike, but instead she sighs, looking up at him as though defeated. “We’ve never been particularly wealthy, and though my father and brother are knights, it’s a foreign order and doesn’t carry much actual status here. I...I don’t know how to act in a place like this, and I know that everyone here looks down on me, so I try and cut them down to size so I can look down at them.” 

“You do a very good job of it. I’ve never seen the courtiers shake as much as they do when you enter the council room,” he tells her honestly, ending on a chuckle that has a corner of her lips quirking up. It’s strange seeing her vulnerable, to know that the impossible girl who guards him day in and day out is just as soft and warm and human as he is, no matter the pageantry she puts on. He gives a nod, adding with a thoughtful frown, “And if anyone says anything about it, then tell me. It wouldn’t do to have my personal guard offended, so I’ll take care of it.” 

She snorts, but it feels shared with him now, and her eyes are warmer now, though they remain sharp as ever. “You’re all right, Your Majesty.” 

He groans. “Gladion. Please, you ruin that title every time you say it – Gladion will do.” 

And she smiles to herself, wiping her slate board clean with a nearby rag as he turns the book towards her, preparing for their first (of many) lessons. 

* * *

Gladion is made for politics, takes to his new role as king like a fish to water. There are still moments when he stumbles, when Wicke steps in as the guiding hand he needs, but within the first months of his rule he can already feel a long-lost sense of optimism renew itself in his spirit. He’s pushing forward reform, weeding out corruption, and building the future that his kingdom deserves. 

Moon is there for all of it, the least surprised of the lot to see him exceed every expectation. 

She helps him with incognito visits to the Aether markets, his way of checking in with the populace and witnessing the output of their farms firsthand. When Kahuna Hala comes to visit, she entertains him easily, asking after Hau and his family in their native tongue; Gladion asks her to begin teaching him it as soon as possible, and it’s tacked onto her literacy lessons. In crafting responses to letters from Kalos and Johto, she sits with him in his study, one hand always on a weapon while the other gesticulates to get a point in one of their debates across. 

They still clash often enough – Lillie likes to joke that only the bulls of Paniola butt heads as often and as hard as they do – but it’s for the things that matter, now. With the time they spend together throughout the day, they’ve fallen into a bit of a routine that has them more united than driven apart. 

And there is nothing quite like a common enemy to unite people. 

Council meetings have become the bane of both of their existences. His advisors are still breathing down his neck, save for Wicke, and they seem to talk in circles around each other as he convinces them of the reforms he proposes. Gladion’s survival can be entirely attributed to the looks he shares with Moon when the meeting drags on far too long, or when his age is brought up as a counterpoint for the dozenth time. More than once, he’s had to hide a laugh as a cough at the faces she pulls. 

They tend to get nastier whenever Faba speaks up. 

Not that Gladion can blame her. He’d have thrown the man out if the court politics would have allowed it, but as it stands, he’s forced to tolerate him to avoid a mutiny of nobles and advisors. 

As another meeting draws to a close, the king glances across the table to where Faba sits, surprised at his relative silence today. It leaves him with a light feeling in his chest as he looks around at the other faces, asking loudly, “Any final proposals before we adjourn?” 

Faba opens his mouth, and the light feeling is replaced immediately with acid reflux. 

“I would like further clarification as to the specifics of why my proposal to suggest a co-developed mining operation with Alola was declined, Your Majesty.” His voice is nasally as ever, and seems to bother even the other courtiers, who look far more ready to go about the rest of their days than listen to his impending lecture. 

Gladion’s gaze slides over to Moon, who stands at his side and subtly raises a brow as she covers a faux yawn with a hand. He smirks down at the table, collecting himself as he recalls what Faba is speaking on, some nonsense he’s already mercilessly ripped apart with Lillie and Moon as his audience. 

“The drafts you proposed would repurpose much more land than we could ever hope to bargain for with the state of our relations,” he explains, opening his mouth to dismiss the court, the other nobles beginning to rise, when Faba’s voice cuts in once more, sending a chorus of groans around the table. 

The advisor adjusts his green spectacles, face growing red as his placating smile twitches. His voice has the undercurrent of a threat, of a genius gone ignored, both of which Gladion is confident will not come to fruition. “Sire, it would be to their benefit as well. That canyon sits on Poni Island, untouched, and we have all the materials necessary to start a major mining operation to greatly increase the wealth of both nations. There is simply no reason why they would reject us.” 

A bark of laughter rings out in the quiet room. 

All eyes turn to Moon, who’s shut her mouth tightly and stares straight ahead, poorly trying to pretend that she did not, in fact, just laugh in the face of a noble advisor. She’s usually silent during these council meetings, not letting out so much as a sneeze, and some whispers abound at the disturbance, courtiers gossiping with amused smiles hidden behind hands. 

Faba is far less amused. Gladion notes that a vein is throbbing on his forehead, wonders idly if it’ll pop and save them all from the temper tantrum that the man is about to throw. No such luck, however, as Faba rises from his seat, pointing an accusatory finger at the knight as he hisses, “And pray tell, _what_ is the laughing matter, Miss Moon?” 

She meets his gaze, refusing to be intimidated – not a particularly hard feat when she could probably snap the man in half with a hard look, or strong puff of air. Her tone becomes one that Gladion recognizes, cold and calculating, which she uses in their debates to unleash a point that will ruin him. This time, however, she injects pure ice, her eyes conjuring seventeen different ways to put the advisor in a chokehold without breaking a sweat. 

“Vast Poni Canyon is home to the Altar of the Sunne and Moone, which has been used by Alolans to worship since a time long before your own kingdom was ever established.” With a roll of her eyes, she smirks at Faba, who flinches under her gaze as she adds, bored already with him being so incredibly wrong, “If you really send some haole to try and suggest they tear up the place for coin, then you’ll offend all four kahunas, jeopardize current trade agreements, and become the laughingstock of the kingdoms.” 

The other courtiers seem taken aback by her wisdom, and Gladion feels a surge of pride as he sits up straighter, watching them whisper their agreement. They nod amongst themselves, and throw looks at Faba as politely as possible to convince him to sit down, because while they weren’t on his side before, they’re clearly on Moon’s. 

All this works up Faba into a splutter, like a teapot left too long on the stove and hissing, boiling over as he blurts, “This is for cultural advancement.” 

Moon raises a brow. “And besides a need to live beyond your means, what is the cultural advancement you’re really offering here?” 

Faba ignores here, instead turning his gaze to the king, and Gladion can tell already that he’s about to ruin what little case he has with whatever nonsense he’s about to spout. His shoulders hunch, and he’s waving wildly at Moon, the dignity he prides himself on having long disappeared in favor of acting like a fish thrashing on land as his voice drops to a cutting whisper. 

“Your Highness, I beseech you, do not listen to the ramblings of some halfwit who does not know the first thing about foreign relations.” 

Gladion can feel Moon stiffen beside him. There’s a reason she stays quiet during these meetings; try as she might, she cannot make the final hurdle of seeing herself as truly part of his court, rather than a village girl parading as a knight. She’ll laugh off this last comment, but he knows that it will taunt her long after Faba forgets he ever said it. 

And for that, Faba has crossed the final line. 

“Then I shall take your advice at once and stop listening to you.” 

The court falls silent, jaws dropping. Even Moon looks down at him, slightly incredulous despite the half-smile threatening to take over her lips. Faba grows pale, face dropping as his spectacles sit crooked on his nose, one wide eye half obscured by the rim. 

Only Wicke seems to have sensed this, and when Gladion looks to her, her smile grows wider ever so slightly as she gives him an encouraging nod. 

“Lord Faba, I have worked tirelessly to repair our relations with Alola after the damage that has been caused. Damage that you yourself played a role in.” His voice sharpens towards the end, digging into Faba’s skin and causing him to flinch, but Gladion is merciless now, standing from his chair and placing his hands on the table, enjoying how leaning forward makes Faba shrink backwards. “I suggest you rework this proposal into something other than a business exploit, and then submit it for reconsideration in a year from now. Until then, I’ll hear no more on the matter. Council meeting adjourned.” 

If the nobles weren’t prepared to leave before, then they certainly are now, hastening to get out the door as they erupt into the newest round of gossip. For once, however, the looks they throw back at the young king are congratulatory, proud even, and more than a few point at Moon with a nod of approval. 

Faba is left at the table, mouth opening and closing, whiskers moving with it like a catfish, until Wicke stands from her seat. She grabs his arm, and from the panicked look that Faba gives, she does so with far more strength than necessary, and all but drags him out of the room, mumbling something about matters he has been ignoring elsewhere. 

When the room is empty of his court, leaving him in silence with Moon, Gladion finally turns to look at her. 

And they promptly burst out into laughter, Moon doubling over and gripping her sides as Gladion leans on the table for support, wondering why he hadn’t done this sooner (and realizing that it’s because Moon had the courage to speak up). 

She recovers first, wiping at her eyes as she regains her breathing, giving him the same wide smile she has on a return from a productive hunt. 

“I’ve never seen his ego so wounded. I swear, his head shrunk three sizes.” 

He rolls his eyes. “Maybe now he’ll be able to get it out of his ass.” 

They stare at each other, his face falling into shock at what he’s just said, hers into pure joy. Her voice booms into another laugh. “Why, such foul language from our noble Gladion!” 

A thrill still runs through him whenever she says his name; she’d never dare to in front of others, sure that the breach of respect would get her more than a slap on the wrist, but in private she never seems to hesitate. If anything, she delights in every syllable, drawing it out low and sweet and just that touch sardonic that she gives every word to leave her mouth. 

“You’re rubbing off on me.” He busies himself with sitting back down and getting his papers in order to hide his fluster from her. It’s a strange thought, to see so clearly, if a bit silly, the ways in which they’ve shaped each other. 

She steps next to his chair, elbow leaning on the back, and her laugh is warm as ever, a sound he thinks the halls of Aether have craved for years now. 

“That’s fantastic.” 

He groans. “It’s _terrible._ Don’t speak to me for the rest of the afternoon.” 

When he throws her a look, she places a finger to her mouth in a promise of silence, but she’s smirking at him and shrugging her shoulders, knowing full well that she won’t keep it. 

Good. It’d be a dreadfully boring afternoon if she did. 

* * *

He walks through the halls, book in hand and ignorant of the surprised look the patrolling guard he passes gives him. 

They’ve snuffed out the lights hours ago, but the full moon gives enough light for him to make his way down a familiar path. It’s only when he’s steps from her door that he realizes he’s left his lantern in the library; he’ll go back and get it in a moment, maybe spend another hour pouring over the journals he’s been reading. 

After all, with everything he’s solved in the past year, he still can’t piece together the mystery of his parents’ demise. 

A soft knock and then he’s waiting, listening for her footsteps. 

Moon opens the door, and he realizes then that he’s never seen her in her nightgown, or with her hair down. 

The sight...does something to him. 

It shouldn’t. Her hair is short, falling to her shoulders, and rather messy from whatever slumber she’s just awoken from. Her nightgown is long, falling past her knees, and she even has a robe on top of it for further modesty, but one of the shoulders has slipped off and lace frames her collarbones, and in the light of the stars she seems unearthly. 

His throat is dry, and all he can do is stare because for once, he doesn’t trust his voice at this moment, and he doesn’t trust his head because it’s too busy looking at her and wondering when she grew up into this woman instead of the scrappy young girl he knew. 

When another moment passes and she manages to wake up enough to process what’s happening, she tilts her head, asking in a voice coated with sleep, “Gladion? Is something the matter?” 

“Apologies, I did not realize how late it had become.” He’d lost track of time, and he knows now what a grave miscalculation that is, the kind of risk he now runs. 

“Yet you’re still awake.” 

“I was in the library,” he explains, and then he tears his eyes away from her slender neck and to the book in his hand, holding it up for her. “I have your next reading assignment ready. You should be able to finish the first chapter within the week.” 

Their lessons have continued, and while he’s become competent with conversational Alolan, she’s graduated from picture books to short novels. The one he passes off to her was a favorite of his when he was a young teenager, a collection of fables that mixed adventure with the beginnings of moral quandaries. He’s sure she’ll like it, too. 

She nods as she glances at the cover, then looks back up at him with a worried furrow in her brow. “Any new leads on your mother’s condition?” 

“We’ve found my father’s hidden notebooks, and they detail some...rather unusual creatures in Alola. I suspect some courtier hid them away, since he freely postulates on magical properties, and things beyond our own realm. I’d like for you to look at them when you have a chance.” 

“Of course.” Her voice drops lower, and he swears she’s looking right through him, cutting him to the core, and he finds he doesn’t mind laying open and vulnerable for her. “And how is she?” 

He hesitates, swallowing hard as he thinks on his last series of visits, and then he’s shaking his head. His left hand trembles, and her gaze snaps to it, familiar now with the tell. “She’s quiet, these days. I...I’ve never seen her so weak, and I’m growing frustrated because no matter what I try, it feels like I’ve already lost her.” 

She frowns. “Then don’t lose yourself, too.” 

When she steps forward, his breath hitches and his heart races, and he can’t quite decipher why. She’s close to him every day, has been even closer when they spar, but then her hand is reaching up to cup his cheek. It’s rough and calloused, but impossibly warm against his cool skin, steady and strong, too. Her thumb gently traces the dark circle under his eye, and there is something so caring in the gesture that his heart flies up into his throat. 

“These late nights won’t do you any good.” Her voice is a low rumble, and her eyes have glazed over, looking over his face in a way that tells him whatever feelings have changed on his end aren’t unrequited. 

He manages a lopsided smile, doing his best to tease her, though his voice is huskier than it should be. “When else will I see Moon?” 

She laughs softly, and as she makes to pull back her hand he follows it, bringing his face closer to hers as he realizes, like waking from a dream, that he trusts her with his body, his mind, and now his heart. 

It feels absolutely natural that their lips should meet, and his hands find their rightful places at her waist and in her hair, pulling her close as she melts, soft and warm only for him. Her hands are on his chest, feeling his thundering heartbeat under her palms, and he finds himself wondering what they might feel like on bare skin, and then he’s tugging on her more insistently, and she’s opening his mouth for him with a whisper of his name– 

Fabric rustles in the hallway and her eyes snap open. She remembers herself, pulls away from him like she’s been burned. He looks over his shoulder, realizes it’s just the tapestry, but when he turns back to her she’s stepped out of his reach, holding the book to her chest which heaves with each breath she takes. 

A voice he can’t hear taunts her, tells her this can’t be real, that no one like him could look at a little village girl like her and see anything other than a roughened knight. A king desiring his guard, some lowly girl who laughs in court meetings and speaks out of turn? What a laughable thought. 

Another voice, sterner, reminds her of her oath, of her duty. Surely she wouldn’t jeopardize the future of the kingdom for something so selfish as chasing the fleeting feelings of a man she can never have? 

But Gladion is still looking at her, still lost in their daze as he steps forward once more. He’s set on this, she can see the conviction in his eyes, and it will sweep her away if she doesn’t stop it. 

She needs to still protect him; this time, from himself. 

“Moon, I think I–” 

“Perhaps this is a dream, Your Majesty.” 

She hides behind her door, half her face hidden as he tries to search it. Her eyes go to the ground, knowing that if she looks up, they’ll both be ruined. 

The silence that follows twists a knife in his gut, and he clears his throat. “Perhaps.” He bows his head, feels himself about to mourn a loss as he whispers, “Good night, then.” 

“G-good night.” 

They lock eyes then, and he can see it now, that this isn’t a fantasy or his imagination running wild. She feels the tug as well, wants him just as badly, but she’s shutting the door, leaving him in the hallway alone. 

He walks to his room next door, feels his left hand, no, _entire body_ shaking with adrenaline. Part of him wonders what would happen if he turned around and knocked on her door once more. No doubt she would lecture him on responsibility and duty, or simply not answer, and it would sting to know that she can shove this all aside somehow. 

But when he closes his eyes to let sleep take him, all he can see is that look of pure want in her eyes, and he knows now what he wants. 

The problem is that it’s her, in ways no king should ever want his guard. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gladion getting the snot kicked out of him by Moon: hope this doesn't awaken anything in me in a few years
> 
> turns out getting a slow burn like this across in one chapter is tricky business, especially when this sort of sequence I would usually split up into at least two chapters. but hey, I'm pretty proud of this behemoth, and it's going to lead us fairly smoothly into "dance"


	3. Dance

That is not the last kiss they share. 

It’s the first of a dozen or so, all spread out in quiet moments in the coming year, when they’re alone and close and unable to ignore the feelings that refuse to leave them. Usually it happens in the library, after their lessons when the candle burns low and they grow bold in the ensuing dark. 

Gladion vividly remembers the last time he kissed Moon and relives it for a moment. 

_A fortnight ago, when he escorted her back to her room, with no one in the hall to see them, he teased her, and she responded by shutting him up with a fevered kiss. He’d had the sense to walk into her room and close the door behind him, could taste the mead they’d shared on her tongue as she walked him to her bed._

_She’d fallen back onto the mattress, hair around her like a halo as he kissed down her neck, desperately unbuttoning her tunic as she gasped softly, fingers tugging at his hair and–_

And the waltz comes to an end, and Gladion remembers himself as he blinks out of the daydream and back into the ballroom. The young woman he’s dancing with, a minor noble from Kalos, gives him a polite smile, thanking him for the dance with the curtsy as they take their leave of each other. 

He’s been a terrible dance partner all night, clearly distracted or uncaring. Someone should have held him accountable for it, but the only woman who would is the one he isn’t supposed to dance with tonight. 

Faba has been less than subtle with his intentions for tonight’s ball. He masqueraded it as an opportunity to allow the other kingdoms back into Aether, to reopen old connections and show a strong face despite the worsening condition of Lusamine. However, Gladion knows better, knows that the guest list stresses young woman of marrying age, knows that his court wants him to marry as soon as possible so that they can erase the past broken household with a new one. 

It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, and he’s quick to grab a goblet of red wine from a passing server as he makes his way to a corner. A poor attempt to hide himself, certainly, what with him being tonight’s main attraction, but he needs at least a few minutes away from noblewoman who are ready to start negotiations on a deal he doesn’t want. 

As he watches the mass of bodies twirling on the floor, he spots a woman approaching him, about to open his mouth to politely reject her when he realizes it’s Moon. 

She’s in a dress. 

She’s _beautiful_ in a dress. 

The fabric is a soft navy silk, the sleeves draping dramatically and leaving her lower arms exposed. It’s simple, especially compared to the jewels and exaggerated silhouettes of the others, but it highlights the gray of her eyes, leaves the dip of her collarbones on full display for him. 

“Good evening, Your Highness.” She drags the title out like a private joke, gives him a smirk, making a show of curtsying deeply, enough that he can see the simple updo she’s put her hair in. 

When she straightens once more, he’s regained his voice with the help of another sip of wine. He hopes his tone is even, light as he mumbles, “That’s quite the gown.” 

“Borrowed from Lillie.” She frowns down at the skirt, smoothing it with her hands and looking the slightest bit uncomfortable. It’s clear she isn’t used to moving around in something like this, and she shudders to think how much it must cost. With a roll of her eyes, she adds with a drop of acid, “Faba insisted that I ‘dress like a real woman’ for once, and security is abundant enough that I can allow it.” 

Gladion rolls his eyes. “Anything you put on your body is you ‘dressing like a real woman,’ though I’ve given up hope on Faba understanding basic concepts.” 

She blinks, and her smile turns warm as she tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear. With a wink, she steers them back to more playful waters. “Well rest assured, I’m still armed and dangerous.” 

“Just where on your person could you have a weapon?” He raises a brow and indulges in the opportunity to let his eyes roam her body, forcing himself not to spend too much time on the tight bodice. 

“Care to guess?” 

He hums, hides a smirk behind the rim of his glass as he raises it to his lips. “Not out loud.” 

Moon lets out a low whistle, shaking her head, though her expression is far from disapproval; if anything, she’s proud, eyes twinkling as she chuckles darkly, “Do the delicate ladies you’ve danced with know you have the mind of a dirty old man?” 

In a mock toast, he lifts his glass towards her. “I’ve learned from the best.” 

It’s one of many things he’s picked up from her. She has her own well of wisdom to draw from, and every right move he’s made in negotiating peace treaties and trade with Alola is all thanks to her. Not to mention the archery and sword lessons, so that now he feels confident handling himself – it'll be certain to come in handy once he starts having to host tournaments, so that he can shoot the ceremonial first arrow without embarrassing himself completely. 

But Lillie’s also pointed out the subtler changes she’s brought in him, how much more freely he laughs, and how he’s slowly let go of his need to self-aggrandize. 

In a word, he’s happier. 

That’s a dangerous trail of thought to go down, especially when he’s here to pick a wife amongst the candidates his court have conjured, and so instead he turns his focus to Lillie. His eyes quickly find her on the other side of the room, speaking to Hala and his son. Gladion doesn’t know much about Hau, but he seems to be getting along well with Lillie, all smiles as he takes off one of his leis and places it on her, the princess thanking him with wide eyes. 

Hau then points to the kapa cloth shawl he wears over his tunic, and she listens as he excitedly explains. Gladion can see that his sister is charmed, and a few other Aether nobles begin to step closer, equally curious. It’s strange to think that so many members of his court still avoid Alola, and he thinks for a moment that should Hau refuse the kahuna position, it may do well to recruit him as a diplomat. 

Then Lillie says something and Hau is nodding, holding out his hand and leading her to the dancefloor as they share a smile and join the waltz. 

It’s nice to see her so social, and enough to have Gladion say, “At least some good has come of all this nonsense.” 

“Don’t care for the marriage market?” 

His voice is flat, face falling in a deadpan that has Moon snorting. “Oh, I love nothing more than to treat others and be treated like a piece of veal.” 

She shakes her head, fixes him with a look he can’t decode before turning her gaze back to the couples on the dancefloor, to the young duchesses and princesses who line the walls and watch her like a hawk about to scoop up the mouse they’ve been eying. 

“You’re selling yourself short – here, you’re the finest gold these buyers have seen in years.” 

“And what about you?” He glances down at her, feels a flash of jealousy that he quells with another sip of wine. “Surely people are beginning to place their bids.” 

Something flickers in her eyes – Envy? Embarrassment? – and then she shrugs, her voice dropping just enough for him to notice. “Demand is low.” 

“I can’t imagine why.” 

She hums, crossing her arms and holding herself tighter as she takes in the laughing noblewomen, with their pearl necklaces and delicate manners. Her eyes glance down at her hands, and she wonders if any of them even knows what a callous is, what kind of horrified faces they’d make if they got one look at her work-worn hands and the little scars that litter her body. 

“Because in a field of roses, hibiscus, and gardenias, you’d be a fool to pick the nettle.” 

They catch each other’s stare, and he looks down at her with a thoughtful smile, tilting his head as he says, “On the contrary. Pick a flower, and it’ll wilt; however, pick the nettle, and it can extend its use to food, textiles, medicine, and more.” 

Her cheeks are heating up, and she can’t even say why really, so she averts here gaze and chuckles self-consciously, desperate to get the heat of his gaze off her. “How much wine did you have to drink?” 

“Not nearly enough to survive this.” He contemplates his goblet for a moment, then throws the rest back, making a face that earns him a much-needed chuckle from Moon. “Faba went and promised everyone dancing until dawn, and we haven’t even reached midnight yet.” 

“Once everyone has a few more glasses, things will loosen up.” 

She’s sober as can be, in case danger strikes, but part of her wishes she’d gone through with sneaking a flask of something strong enough to peel paint, because tonight has been a lesson in self-destruction for her. There’s a good chance she’ll need to sneak rye from the kitchen if she’s really going to be subjected to watching yet another baker’s dozen of stunningly composed and dazzling debutantes dance with the king. 

He shakes his head, too busy with placing his empty goblet on the window ledge behind them to catch her frown. “It’ll take a lot more than wine to loosen any of these people up. Especially in the infamously ‘haunted’ Aether palace.” 

Rumors have abounded over the years, and the fact that his ailing mother is quite literally locked up in a tower doesn’t help matters. Most of their guests have visibly calmed by now, but a few still seem wary, as though they’re moments from placing bets on whether he or his sister will lose their minds right in front of them. 

His irritation rolls off him in waves, and she’s quick to elbow him lightly in the side, drawing his eye as she waggles her brows. “Want me to start dancing on tables? Cause a scene?” 

He can’t help but laugh, and she smiles at the noise, and it’s feline and coy and so absolutely her that he decides he’ll take the lecture from Faba if it means he can act on this one impulse. 

“I want you to dance with me.” 

“No you don’t,” she blurts immediately, face paling. At his confusion, she takes a deep breath, calms her racing heart and clears her head of how close they would be, of how tightly he might hold her right in front of everyone here, and instead says simply, “I’m a terrible dancer.” 

He raises a brow. “You just said you would dance on tables.” 

“I didn’t say _well.”_ She snorts, gaze traveling to the musicians in their corner as they bring about the end to another song, pausing for a moment to switch their sheet music. “Lillie barely managed to teach me the basics of court dances. Unless you can convince the band to strike up a jig, then I’ll probably step on your foot. Maybe even on accident.” 

That does little to deter him. Instead, he steps in front of her, bowing his body and holding out his hand. Her breath freezes on her lips at the sight, and she can hear the whispers of a nearby group of nobles. The noblewomen who were watching her across the room look about ready to peck her eyes out. 

But then he looks up at her with a smile, and it’s nervous as he tries to hide the shaking of his left hand, trying and failing for a teasing lilt in his voice. “Please don’t make me beg.” 

“People are staring,” she whispers in response. 

“Just focus on me.” 

She takes a deep breath, and the music is starting, and she decides that one dance, a few minutes to indulge in the fantasy, can’t hurt any more than the rest of this night has. With a cautious smile, she places her hand in his, and he leads them to an empty spot on the floor, and she keeps her focus all on him, on how his hand at the small of her back seems to burn pleasantly, even through the fabric. 

None of the other women in this room know what it’s like to feel his hand caress the bare skin of their torso. 

Her steps are clumsy as they start, but she gets better once she relinquishes the last of her control to him, letting him lead. He presses her just a hair closer to him, not enough to cause a scandal and easy enough to brush off as a friendly gesture, but she squeezes his hand and they both know the hidden meaning. 

He twirls them a little too quickly, spinning until she laughs at the sheer ridiculousness of the move in a sea of well-choreographed and controlled bodies, and he’s grinning. He smirks, unable to take his eyes off her smile. “See? Not so bad.” 

“No,” she agrees with a hum, ignoring the curious stares of an older couple next to them, “Not with you.” 

The song continues, and her steps grow surer with his guidance, and the ballroom melts away. She’s holding his gaze, guessing correctly at what he’s thinking and forgetting all her previous thoughts about harpy women and the reality of their future. He can’t stop thinking about how her hand lays on his upper arm, how she looks up at him not like a king but like a human, someone she’s laughed and fought with in equal measure. 

For once in his life, he doesn’t want to be King of Aether in this moment. 

He starts leading them towards the edge of the dance floor, a plan forming in his head as he scans for the exit he’s thinking of. The archway comes into view, and she follows his gaze. 

“Now where are you taking me?” she asks with an amused smile, though she feels the answer in her bones. 

With a scan of the rest of the room, he looks back down at her with conviction clear in his eyes. “I’m about to do something foolish.” 

“Are you asking for permission?” 

“No, it’s a warning.” She giggles at the familiar words, and he leans closer to whisper in her ear, “When this dance is over, I’m going to escape and reclaim my sanity in the privacy of the library. As my personal guard, it may be in your best interest to follow and make sure no harm comes my way.” 

Moon smirks, delighting her ability to read him. “Of course.” 

When the music ends a minute later, they pull apart just like all the others, bowing and curtsying to each other, and then they catch each other’s eye with a spark of mirth exchanged. She’s the first to begin walking towards the archway, briskly and with her head straight forward, sure that he’s following her at an inconspicuous length behind. 

Only when she reaches the stairs does she turn and wait, watching him break into a jog with a smile that’s infectious enough for him to catch, the two giggling and shushing each other like schoolchildren playing truant as they race up the stairs and towards the library. 

He opens the door for her, and she stretches her arms above her head, thankful that the noise of the ball has long faded, and the library is pleasantly dark and abandoned. She glances at him over her shoulder as she walks. 

“It’s a good thing we ran when we did – I'm fairly certain the Duchess of Rustboro was planning my murder for stealing your attention.” 

“That would be terribly rude,” he replies with a smirk. 

They both stop walking, staring at each other, and then she’s bolting off into the bookshelves and he’s chasing her, quickly catching on to the little game she’s hatched with a chuckle. He turns, looking for any sign of movement, but she’s used her training to all but disappear. 

She takes mercy on him and uses her voice to guide him. 

“Y’know, she might be a good choice.” 

His brows furrow, and he’s still focused on trying to find her, keeping his own steps as silent as possible as he asks absent-mindedly, “For what?” 

“Your Queen.” 

The library is silent, and his body freezes, stomach sinking at the mere thought. He strains his ears when she continues, trying to pick out what she’s writing between her lines as she continues from somewhere in the library, now behind him, “An alliance with Hoenn could be beneficial, and I hear she has ties to the Devon family.” 

He scowls to himself, turning a corner but not finding her there. “I’ll pass.” 

She hums, and now he can hear her withdrawing, forcing her tone to be as detached as when they debate philosophy, though the strain is evident. “Well then how about Lady Candice of Snowpoint? She’s rather pretty and would make an excellent spiritual leader to the people.” 

“I have no interest in her.” 

A thought occurs to him, and he knows exactly where she’s leading him. He sets off without another moment of hesitation, taking the long way around to surprise her. 

Her laugh is forced, falling flat at the end as it travels through the bookcases. “What, has no one caught your eye tonight?” 

And then she’s there, standing by their favorite desk with her back to him. He takes two more quiet steps and then he’s behind her, hands ghosting over her arms as she flinches in shock, his voice right in her ear as he purrs, “You have.” 

She should be stronger than this – there's another layer of guilt, indulging in whatever this mess that they’ve become is when dozens of girls are waiting for him to propose below their feet. 

But he’s placing a kiss on the shell of her ear, hands sliding around her waist, and she’s melting back into him. She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath through her nose as she tries to summon the last of her self-control. 

“Don’t say it.” 

“Don’t say what?” His lips travel to her neck, mumbling against her exposed skin in between kisses, “What we both already know? That you're the only person in that ballroom I have eyes for?” 

She lets out a noise like she’s wounded, can’t regain her breath in time. “Gladion...” 

His voice is the rumble of an oncoming storm at the nape of her neck. “Tell me you don’t feel the same.” 

With little effort she turns in his grip, grabs his jaw with her hand and fixes him with what others might call a glare, but he now knows is her own look of determination, her own way of saying what she can’t. 

“Damn you.” 

She kisses him like her life depends on it, nipping at his bottom lip and smirking when it gets a groan out of him. Of course, this has evolved into another competition for them, to see who can unravel the other faster, who remembers the spots that drive them wild best. 

That’s all this is to him, after all. It’s no secret that noblemen will take their pick of whatever common girl they want to have their fun with, and Moon knows Gladion isn’t like that, but there’s simply no other explanation that she can afford. Her mind flickers to those women downstairs, to how pure and chaste they must be, the kinds of vicious whispers they would throw at her if they knew what she was doing with their precious meal ticket. 

Some awful, petty part of her considers what they’d do if she told them plainly that she’s seen him half-naked underneath her – faint, probably, or send for the hangman. 

What would the court do if they knew? 

_Arrest her for witchcraft,_ she hears them sneer, _for she has a hold on our king that could only be caused by that dark magic Alolans practice._

_We knew we should never have brought that islander into the palace,_ the others bemoan, _They’re all starved for power without a monarch or proper titles, so of course this one connives her way to the throne._

She wants to shut them all up, and so she tugs on Gladion’s hair, and he takes the hint, attacking her neck but careful to not leave a trace behind. A gasp escapes her when his lips skim the neckline of her dress, and she can feel him smile as he guides her back towards the window ledge. With practiced ease, she climbs up, not caring how expensive this dress would be if she ripped it, not caring about the whispers of the court, not caring about anything except pretending that the way he presses his body against hers could mean that he returns even a fraction of her feelings for him. 

He’s stepping between her legs, lips back on hers as he pushes closer and stops, eyes snapping open as he feels something hard against her thigh. 

Except he’s sure that can’t be him, and he remembers something she said earlier as he pulls back ever so slightly, honeyed chuckle ghosting over her lips as he mumbles, “I think I know where that weapon is.” 

She blinks, and the heat wave is broken, her laugh a cool breeze as they take a moment to breathe. Her hands travel to cup his cheeks, and in the quiet, with his hands on her lower back and forehead against hers, it’s almost enough to fool her into thinking this isn’t some passing fancy for him, some form of stress relief he soon won’t need. 

Her face falls, and her calloused thumbs trace his cheekbones half-heartedly. He senses it immediately, squeezes her sides encouragingly. “Tell me.” 

“I live in fear of the day you marry,” she admits quietly, feeling her heart crack as she searches his gaze for an answer she won’t find. “When I won’t even have you late at night.” 

He frowns, brushing a stray hair out of her face. 

“Then I’ll marry you.” 

“You’d need your mother’s blessing to marry a commoner,” she counters. They both know it would have been near impossible to receive before – Mohn was always the one pushing for better relations with Alola, while Queen Lusamine seemed skittish at best about the idea – but now it really is, with her state of mind being what it is. 

Although maybe the shock of seeing her only son on one knee before some nobody who can’t dress like a woman would be enough to shock her back to sanity. 

He sees the line between her brows, kisses it before moving to her cheeks, her chin, her nose, and then along her jawline, like a man starved. “Then I won’t marry at all,” he hums, and he nearly sounds serious about it. 

“You need an heir.” She tangles a hand in his hair, tilts her head back to give him better access to her neck. She blinks back a tear brought on by how gentle he’s being, like he’s soothing a wound she won’t admit she has. In a way, he is, but she’s intent on ripping it further open as she whispers, “You need someone to rule by your side.” 

“I need someone who’s my equal, who I’ve come to trust with my entire being.” He looks deep into her eyes, offers her everything within him in that moment so she knows the truth of his words. 

She draws him into another kiss, distracts him long enough to slip past his lips with a hint of disdain, “You need someone who knows how to be a proper queen.” 

They’re lost in each other, hands grasping at fabric as they gasp into the other’s mouth, and then he’s at her collarbone, tracing lower until he’s nearly at her heart and she wonders if he can hear it whisper her secrets to him. 

“I’ll abdicate.” Her eyes shoot open and her heart stops, but he continues in a frenzy, pressing kisses to her moonlit skin as he swears, “I’ll take you far away from here, live out our lives hidden away in Alola, or beyond the sea.” 

_“Stop.”_

Her voice is sharper than she intends, but then she didn’t realize he was serious until this moment, with how desperate his pleas have grown. She forces him to look at her, forces herself to stay back as she levels him with a look. “You’ll do no such thing, not when you still have so much you want to change.” 

He shakes his head, though his voice wavers as he regains his senses. “Lillie can carry it out.” 

She frowns, wishing she could believe him, but remains firm. Whatever this is has got away from her, and she feels her voice rising as she clings to politics, to reason, to everything that screams at her to stay away from him and keep her head down. 

“We both know you wouldn’t be happier anywhere else. You’d resent the decision as soon as you’d make it.” 

He straightens, frustrated as he groans, “Why are you so insistent on ending this?” 

“Why are you throwing away your future to marry some village girl?” she roars, voice cracking with anger. 

The silence stings, leaves them to stare at each other. His eyes are wide with shock, and hers are overflowing with tears she can’t control. She shuts her eyes, wills herself to stop, but she can’t when she knows that she’s gone and broken her own heart. 

His fingers wipe away the tear stains, voice quiet but sure, shaking with his determination. “You aren’t just a village girl, Moon.” 

“No. I’m also your guard.” Her eyes open, and she feels her body grow numb. She’s a knight, not some heroine from a romance or schoolgirl with a crush, and she forces the last of her heart to shatter because she sees now that she can’t have it both ways. “I have sworn to protect you, even if it costs me my life. It’s bad enough I let things go this far, but I cannot put my feelings above your well-being.” 

He takes a deep breath, lungs hurting with the motion. 

“Does that change how you feel for me?” 

She looks down at her hands in her lap. 

“It will fade.” He withdraws his hands from her face, and she forces herself to go on, to plaster a hollow smile when she looks back up at him, though her breath is uneven. “You’ll make a good choice when marrying. You’ll become the greatest monarch Aether has ever seen. Your legacy will go untarnished.” 

“And what about you?” he whispers, left hand shaking. The world feels like it’s tilting under his feet, trying to get him to stumble and fall. He can’t bring himself to stand back up, to make an argument when there is none, when they both know she’s right in the end. 

She digs her nails into the palms of her hands, thinks about all thee noblewomen he’s danced with tonight and how it must feel to get what you want in life, to see someone as good and noble as him and know he could be yours. 

Well, she’ll be able to see it soon enough. 

“I’ll be watching all the while,” she tells him, voice hoarse as a corner of her lips quirks into a self-deprecating smile. “I have a masochistic streak in me.” 

He shakes his head. “I’m the one who keeps trying to hold stinging nettle.” 

They’re quiet once more, unable to look at each other. Gladion can feel himself being pulled back into the state he was in before he met her, alone and unsure and unwilling to risk any of himself. He swallows, settles his mind and decides he can’t afford to go back to that place, and he can’t afford to lose her. 

“We should go back,” she tells him, though she makes no move to slide off the ledge. 

“Moon.” Her name is a final plea, and she looks up, lips parting when she sees his conviction flare to life, can see something burning deep within him that may reduce him to ash. 

“Whatever feelings you think I have – they're stronger than you give me credit for. I don’t just want you in my bed, I...I want you by my side, and I think that. Well, I _know_ that I’m falling in love with you.” 

She opens her mouth, and then stops herself, pressing her lips into a thin line as her eyes grow wet once more. Everything in her aches to finally tell him, but that will postpone the inevitable, and he’s always deserved better than some islander with nothing to her name. 

“Then I hope you land on your feet.” 

He nods, bites his cheek so hard he tastes iron in his mouth, and then he’s turning and walking out of the library, back to the ball where he’ll talk to faceless girls as he thinks only of her. 

When the door closes shut behind him, leaving her alone in the dark, Moon lets her head fall back against the windowpane and cries quietly to herself. 

_Poor little girl,_ the voices in her head cackle, _Your_ _game of pretend is over._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, literally trying not to cry as I write the last part of this chapter: w-writing is...writing....is...f...fun......
> 
> every Royal!AU is legally obligated to have at least one (1) ballroom scene, so here's this one, complete with emotional whiplash of spice to angst


	4. Danger

Lusamine sits up in her bed, her thin body covered in blankets, long hair flowing around her. Gladion thinks, for a moment, that she looks like one of the fairies from his childhood books, pale and delicate, but it sends a wave of nausea rather than wonder over him. 

She used to spend her days in the garden, green eyes bright as her skilled hands pruned bushes and pointed out trees for the gardeners to trim. 

Now, her gaze is lifeless, unfocused, as he holds up his father’s journal to show her an illustration of what Mohn termed Nihilego. 

“Do you recognize these?” 

Her hand shakes as she reaches forward, tracing the lines. “Beautiful...” 

Gladion’s grip on the notebook tightens as he tries to keep his voice even, tries to keep her from seeing the frustration. It only upsets her. Instead, he leans closer and makes his voice softer as he mumbles, “Mother, please. Are these the creatures that attacked you that night?” 

She hums, withdrawing her hand and leaning back on a pillow, eyes sliding shut. For a moment, his heart stops, and then he sees she’s still breathing. 

“There is a breed of jellyfish that are immortal. They breed and then revert to a younger state.” Her eyes open, but it seems she’s still in her dream, staring up at the ceiling with a faraway smile. “Life in stasis, as it should be.” 

He closes the notebook with a sigh, placing it back on his lap. Clearly, his line of questioning isn’t working, and so he opts to switch tactics. “Do you want to live forever?” 

“Live?” She turns her head, looks just past him. “No, my Mohn, that isn’t it.” 

His gut twists, and he feels like he might vomit. This is the third time this month that she’s confused him for his father, and it hurts no less. He keeps his breathing steady, reminds himself that if he breaks the delusion, he may break her mind and the physicians are unsure what she would do in that state. 

“Your Majesty, I apologize, but it’s time for her medicine,” the doctor behind him mumbles, head bowed low. 

“I understand. Thank you.” He stands from the chair, looks back down at Lusamine, who seems to be studying a crack in the floor. What she really sees, he can only guess at, but it’s clear she isn’t here with him anymore and so he takes his leave without another word. 

When he exits into the hall, Moon is waiting, standing from her spot leaning against the wall. She bites her lip, hesitates for just a moment as he doesn’t quite catch her eye. She asks gently, “Any luck?” 

He falters, taking a breath to steady himself. 

In the weeks following the ball, a tension followed them. The quiet moments they had together were arduous, and so he avoided them as much as possible. Lillie became a buffer for them, happy to carry the conversation, if more than a little confused at the two’s sudden change. She had the grace to not push the matter, but she also refused her status as a constant go-between, beginning to make herself scarce, no doubt to push the two to actually talk. 

It worked. Moon was the one to break their awkward silence, to confront him after their training. 

_She’d noticed his dark circles returning, and he hadn’t said a word to her after the last visit to his mother, and so she cornered him in the courtyard._

_“I don’t know what to tell you anymore,” he admitted, fiddling with the practice sword still in his hand._

_Her eyes softened, and she gave him a timid half-smile. “I’m still your friend, aren’t I?”_

She is, in theory, but the problem is that he wants so much more, hasn’t stopped wanting it for even a moment. It would be melodramatic to say that every second in her presence is an aching reminder of what he must deny himself, but there are certainly moments. When her hair falls in her eyes while aiming her bow, he has to stop himself from reaching out to brush it away. When she pulls a face at Faba, she doesn’t meet his eyes to properly exchange it, and he forces himself to focus on the papers in front of him. 

Their lessons have come to an end, as well, and when he lies alone in his bed at night, he has to busy himself with other thoughts to keep from thinking about her pale skin lit up by stars. 

“She’s getting worse.” He shakes himself out of the thought, looks down at the journal still in his hand with a frown. “Whether or not she actually recognizes any of these creatures is a lost cause.” 

Moon hums, chewing her cheek as she thinks for a moment. “We could try bringing one to her.” 

He can’t help but snort, shaking his head as he begins the walk back to his chambers. She follows behind him, footsteps light and even, giving a tempo to his words as he explains, “Good luck convincing anyone to join that hunting party. Our knights may have free reign to roam Alola now, but you’d be hard pressed to find anyone with enough lack of sense to enter that forest on Ula’ula.” 

There’s silence, and his stomach sinks because she’s always quiet before the bad ideas. 

“Well I’m right here.” 

She flinches with the speed of his heel turn, his voice clipped and eyes wide when he snaps, “Absolutely not.” 

But she stands tall, looks up at him and plays this all off with a shrug, as though entering that forest isn’t hailed as a death sentence across the islands. “It’s a risk I’m willing to take.” 

“I’m not.” His voice is softer than he intended, closer to a plea, and she shrinks for a moment under it. He takes another breath, but the worry won’t leave his brows. “I forbid you from going there. Swear to me you won’t, Moon.” 

This is the point when she puts up a fight, when she makes some retort and they continue this debate for the rest of the walk. She’d find a way to make things light once more, even get a laugh out of him, and he’d dance around the matter of his heart, give her just enough that she could piece it all together if she wants. 

There’s a moment when he thinks she will do just that, when she will finally bridge this gap between them that she’s dug with her bare hands. 

Then she drops her gaze, bites her tongue as she mumbles, “I promise, Your Highness.” 

He wishes she would say his name, just once. 

He wishes plenty, these days, with his mother gone and Moon disappearing alongside her. 

“You look like you need a drink.” She’s just as weary as him, trying for a smirk. 

His sigh is long and low as he mirrors her expression. “Then let’s get it, far away from this place.” 

* * *

They can’t go all that far, but they can at least slip out of the castle. She leads the way, towards an old tavern they started frequenting a few months ago. The owner’s taken a shining to Moon, and often offers her a discount for the already cheap ale. Better yet, the place should be quiet this time of afternoon, and though they haven’t been spotted yet, it can’t hurt to do everything they can to keep his identity secret. 

As they walk through the marketplace, a stall catches Gladion’s eye. He pauses, taking in the abundance of drying herbs hanging from the roof of the cart. It’s a wider variety than he’s seen in some time, no doubt due to the bout of good weather they’ve had on Aether. 

Moon joins him back at his side with a hum. “See something you like?” 

He jerks his chin towards the stall, watching as the vendor, a friendly older man, passes off a bundle of herbs to a woman. “Lillie might like some.” 

She’s been wanting to practice her natural remedies more, and the section of herbs she’s planted in the garden has yet to truly sprout. Eucalyptus or some rosemary would be especially beneficial for her studies. 

Catching onto his train of thought quickly, Moon nods and holds out her hand. It’s a routine they developed when they first started sneaking into the market, as it became increasingly clear that while Glaidon’s mind can handle numbers at lightning speeds, his people skills left much to be desired. She’s the one who can actually converse with merchants, and so she’s taken to buying what he wants for him. 

The last time she’d done it, she managed to get a banned book for half the price, and he was so ecstatic that he kissed her then and there in the street. 

His chest clenches at the memory. 

“No need, I can buy it myself.” She keeps her palm upturned, raising a brow. He splutters, feeling defensive as he argues, “What? My bartering has improved.” 

She acquiesces with a smile, but her eyes are still too impish. “That it has, but do you know the actual marketplace value of rosemary?” 

He opens his mouth, thinks for a moment, closes his mouth, and hands over the small bag of coins on his belt with a grumble. She chuckles, promises to only be a moment, and he’s left to wait by the path, adjusting his cloak to cover more of his face. 

It’s a quiet day in the market, though the pleasant weather has certainly attracted more people. Vendors shout out their wares and prices, filling the air with noise as mothers shout for their children to stay near as they complete the day’s shopping. 

His gaze lands on a gaggle of children, the oldest coming up to just past his knee, and smiles faintly at the sight of them happily playing with each other, racing down the path and hiding behind stalls. They scream at each other, wait for the foot traffic to die down before all sprinting for the nearby fountain with laughter. When they reach it, they quickly grab hands, skipping in a circle and beginning a hauntingly familiar tune that stops his heart. 

_Poor little_ _Aethers_ _lost their heads,_   
_After they sent the children to bed._

_King and Queen walk into the wood,_   
_But the Queen is up to no good._

_The Queen sends the King far away,_   
_Only to find her madness stays._

_Poor little_ _Aethers_ _lost their heads,_   
_How soon until the next one’s dead?_

He can’t feel the ground beneath him, air stolen from his lungs. His body is frozen in place as the children keep laughing, likely not even knowing the origin of that rhyme, of that damn song that has haunted his childhood, one of many that reminded him he would be remembered for a crime his mother didn’t commit. 

The world is fading around him, the corners of his vision darkening and closing in on him. 

“Gladion!” 

Moon’s scream pulls him out, and he turns to see a man with a bow and arrow at the other end of the market, and he can’t think at all, instead crouching and curling in on himself as his heart begins to hammer away at his chest. 

Screams ring out and a bundle of rosemary lands at his feet. 

He looks up, and Moon is standing before him, eyes wide and body shaking as one of her hand’s goes to her side. 

An arrow protrudes from her back, having just pierced the leather chest plate. 

“Moon,” he whispers, standing and feeling the world slow even as people rush past them, children screaming. 

Her gaze lands on him, wild and unfocused for a moment, and then she’s coughing, wincing from the effort, and back in her body once more. “G-get to cover.” 

His body is still frozen, and so she starts to guide him to the side, towards a cart. She staggers, and the sight of her back, of the arrow, of the blood slowly beginning to stain her tunic, is the final push he needs to reenter the world. He comes to her side quickly, slinging her arm over his shoulder to help her walk. 

Once they’re crouching behind the line of carts, along with a few vendors and two families, he takes stock of her injury, feels his head swimming in memories of what she used to day about her mother’s work. Nothing’s connecting, nothing’s making sense, and tears are beginning to blur his vision as he asks, “What do I do?” 

“Not...not too deep. I’m all right.” Her breath is becoming a wheeze, but it remains steady as she shakes her head, tries to wave him away with a hand that shakes. “Get back to the castle.” 

That he can understand, can do in this moment, and so he holds his arm out for her once more. 

“Come on.” 

She’s grown pale, and she’s leaning her entire body against the wall behind them. “I-I’ll slow you down.” 

“I’m not leaving you.” 

It leaves no room for argument, and the conviction is clear in his eyes as he takes hold of her. She leans on him, hobbling back onto the main path as he spots a cluster of palace guards that must have been sent, and he tries so desperately to not cry, to not think of how lifeless her body seems to be growing. 

To not remember that this is exactly what she’s sworn to do. 

* * *

The doctor notes something else down in the journal by the bed before turning his attention to the three nobles waiting. “A week of bed rest, at least. I would suggest easing her back into her regular activity after that, but I foresee no complications.” 

Gladion’s gaze remains on Moon’s unconscious form, on the pallor of her skin and the sweat that still clings to her brow. Under the blankets, her torso has been bandaged, and he can still see that stark white with a blooming patch of red. 

He looks up at the physician, face hard as he says in a harsh monotone, “I want someone watching her at all hours. Has she complained of pain? Do we have enough pain medicine for her?” 

“She’s under the best care possible, Your Majesty,” Wicke whispers, placing a hand gently on his shoulder and giving it a squeeze. “Why don’t we let her rest?” 

She leads him out of the room, and as they step out into the hall, he wants absolute silence, wants to be so alone that he starts to doubt his existence. 

Faba trails behind them, nasally voice a sneer as he chides incessantly, “This could have been avoided, sire, as I do not know why you _insist_ on debasing yourself with these visits, and now look. We have assassins catching on to your every move, and imagine if the islander hadn’t been there to take the hit instead of–” 

“Do you value your tongue, Faba?” 

They stop walking, Wicke’s eyes widening as Faba gapes. Gladion turns to look at him, shows him the fury in his eyes as his clenched fists begin to shake with the need to tear and break and claw until he feels something besides the anger. 

“If you’d like to keep it, then I suggest you put it to better use with spreading the description of the man who tried to shoot me.” When the man still doesn’t move, too stunned to do anything but blink Gladion growls with every ounce of blood in him, “Go.” 

Faba scurries off, not unlike the bugs Moon used to compare him to. His frown deepens, and then he turns and continues walking, needing to move and not be in his head for even just a moment, to finally have silence as every thought screams at him that this is his fault, that her demise will always be his fault. 

Wicke follows behind, watches the frustration boil off him until the steam subsides. When they’re outside his chambers, she finally clears her throat. It’s the most nervous he’s ever seen her, as she looks to her clasped hands for a moment, taking her time in selecting her words. 

“Your Majesty, while Lady Moon is recovering, we will need to assign you another personal guard.” 

“I don’t want it.” 

“I know, dear.” Wicke’s face softens, her shoulders slumping, and in that moment, Gladion knows that she’s found them out. He flinches, half-expecting a reprimand for it, for being selfish enough to expect a young woman to give her life for him and love him for it, but it doesn’t come. 

Instead, Wicke sighs, and it’s clear that she’s so tired, that the burden of this palace has been just as heavy on her shoulders as his. “Believe me, I know. But with this last attack, we cannot take any chances.” 

He bites his cheek, holds her eyes, and then gives a single nod. “Understood.” 

The noblewoman gives him a curtsy, and when their eyes meet again, she manages a small, soothing smile. “She will recover soon.” 

All he can do is turn and enter his room. 

Arms wrap around him almost immediately, knocking him breathless and freezing him until he realizes it’s Lillie. She buries her face into his chest, and the fabric of his tunic grows wet from the tears streaming down her face. No doubt she’s been pacing in his room, waiting for him, for news, for her heart to break as she loses the only family she has left. 

“I’m so glad you’re safe,” she whispers, pulling back just enough to see his face. Her skin is blotchy, eyes rimmed in red. 

“It’s all thanks to her.” 

Lillie frowns, withdrawing her arms. “You know she wouldn’t want you to feel guilty.” 

“She could have died.” He’s walking now, pacing aimlessly in his room and letting the voices in his head sweep him up, carry him as his own voice grows louder, more frantic. “Lillie, I carried her in my arms and I swore she was dying, and the physician tells me the wound wasn’t even deep enough to be fatal. What happens next time, when there’s more than one, when her armor breaks, when–” 

“Gladion, please.” 

He stops, turning and looking up to see her still by the door, silently sobbing as she holds herself. She holds his gaze, standing tall even when she looks moments from breaking. “She's my friend, too, you know. Do you think you’re the only one who worries?” 

The quiet is sobering, the cold splash of water that he needed. Looking at his sister, he sees how young she is, how her empathy has always been her greatest strength, and how it hurts her heart to carry. 

“I...I’m sorry.” 

She steps towards him, pauses and tilts her head as studies the worry creasing his brow and how his left hand shakes uncontrollably. With a sigh, and the beginnings of a smile, she whispers, “You love her, don’t you?” 

The tears come easily to him now, and he sobs as though he’s a child again, begging for someone to make the hurt stop, to bring back the life that should be his. Lillie closes the distance, wraps her arms around him and lets him cry onto her shoulder as she rubs circles in his back. 

“Oh, Gladion. What a mess this has all become.” 

A mess to say the least. 

But then he’s always been good at fixing those. 

* * *

Moon recovers well, according to what Lillie tells him. She also urges him to actually go visit the knight, swears that she’s asked after him several times, but his guild and the knowledge of what he’s about to do keeps him from seeing her. 

By her final day of bed rest, the physician confirms that no complications have arisen, and she’ll be able to go back to her duties with little difficulty, which is good, because someone will need to take care of Lillie. 

It’s laughably easy to get past the guard assigned to him. The man sleeps like a log, snores carrying down the hall, and then it’s just a matter of Gladion using the servants’ tunnels and pushing his rowboat out to sea. He keeps his cloak tightly drawn, covering his face and the sword at his hip. When he docks on Ula’ula, the perpetual rainclouds over the island’s forest drench him within moments. 

His mind flashes back to the first day he met her, and as he approaches the forest’s edge, he thinks about how far they’ve come, how far they could’ve gone. 

He never should have roped her into his life. 

He should have found the cure by now. 

He should have found his father. 

All of his failures weigh heavy on his soul as he looks into the forest. Tree roots sprawl across the mud, seeming to move on their own. The dense canopy above shrouds the forest in a darkness that human eyes may never truly adjust to. An animal cries in the distance, not quite bird and not quite anything else, but certainly predator. 

Within here lies his chance to finally fix the lives of those around him. 

His steps are slow and methodical, and he draws his sword as he walks deeper into the forest, feeling hundreds of eyes on him that he cannot see. 

A strange, pale blue light catches his gaze, and he begins to follow it as it floats through the trees. It’s the same color as one of his father’s illustrations, the same translucent quality that the watercolors captured. 

He steps into the clearing before a large banyan tree, and his blood runs cold. 

Dozens of Nihilego float through the air, weaving their way around the trunks of the banyan tree like jellyfish floating in the sea. Their soft cries hurt his ears, their very presence seeming to make the air grow colder, chilling him through his rain-soaked clothes. He pulls down the hood of his cloak, takes in the sublime sight, feet rooted to the spot and eyes wandering. 

Isn’t there an old myth about the banyan tree? Something Moon once told him... 

“Alola!” 

He jumps, and he follows the sound of the high-pitched voice up the main trunk of the tree, finding a young girl sitting at the top. A golden armband catches the little light filtering through the leaves, but her dress is patched together with scraps of purple and gray cloth. She looks younger than him, but there’s something in her smile that suggests a life long-lived, of wisdom he will never attain. 

“Well, well, I don’t get visitors too often.” She tilts her head, studies him with a curious hum before her grin returns, wider this time. “You must be quite the odd one to come all the way out here.” 

It has to be her. His grip on the sword’s hilt tightens, and he keeps his eyes on her, despite the Nihilego floating around him, inspecting him. 

“You cursed my mother.” 

He blinks and she’s gone. There’s a snap of a twig and he whirls, finding that she’s now leaning out from behind a different trunk, tapping a finger to her chin. 

“Did I? I’ve cursed a few hundred people in my time, you’ll have to specify.” 

“Lusamine, Queen of Aether. Her and my father, King Mohn, were on a scientific expedition and you ruined their lives,” he growls, walking towards her, remembering to keep his knees bent when he swings, to keep his grip firm. 

“Now that’s quite the accusation indeed!” Before he can take more than a few steps, she floats up, effortlessly, joining the Nihilego in the air. One passes close to her, cooing softly, and she smiles fondly at the creature as she pats the head. “Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t.” 

“I’m not here to play your games.” 

He readies his stance, two hands now on the hilt as he considers his next move, thinks of as many ways as possible to get her within swinging distance. If he could just get rid of this terrible, nonsensical witch, then maybe his mother’s curse will lift, and maybe the nightmares will finally leave him, and maybe that stupid nursery rhyme will stop being spread, and maybe and maybe and maybe. 

For just a moment, her eyes harden, amusement lifting from her face and replaced with something that sends a shiver down his spine. Then she’s floating around him with a lazy smile, the Nihilego following her path and floating lower. “Why don’t you put the toothpick away and let’s talk calmly?” 

But he’s past the point of reason, past the point of fear even as he roars, “Admit it. Admit you killed my father!” 

“What is it that you want, boy?” 

He sets his brow, sets his course and refuses to stray from it. 

“I want you and every one of these beasts dead.” 

She clicks her tongue, wags her finger as her voice becomes a sing-song, a condescension he will not tolerate. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” 

A Nihilego lets out a soft cry to his right, and it triggers something in him, so that he can see his mother lying weak in her bed, and then her face is shifting and it’s Moon, clutching her side, and then his father smiling at him as he waves goodbye. 

His sword plunges into the head of the Nihilego, and unearthly shrieks fill the air as the others float higher and away. The one he’s struck, pinned to the ground with his sword, writhes and groans and then still, body collapsing in on itself. He withdraws his sword, watching in awed disgust as the creature dissolves into a light blue, viscous liquid, and now he’s sure he’s right because it’s the same poison they found his mother covered in that night in the woods. 

“Well I tried to warn you.” 

He whips around, and the witch is right behind him, sighing. As he raises his sword, she simply shakes her head, lifting a hand and forming an orb of purple fog above her palm. 

“I think it’s time you learned a lesson, eh?” 

Light blinds him, and he feels his body grow and shrink and stretch and bend, and then the world goes to black. 

* * *

She’s on bed rest for a _week,_ and the entire palace might as well have caught on fire. 

The council room is filled with courtiers, a large map of Aether and Alola stretching across the table, filled with markers that stand in as search parties, forces they’re desperately trying to organize in order to find their missing king. 

A king who wouldn’t be missing if she hadn’t gotten hurt, leaving some bumbling idiot to watch over him. 

As nobles argue amongst themselves, all claiming they can spare no more for the search effort, she stands with crossed arms next to Lillie. The princess has been silent throughout this affair, chewing her lip as her hollow eyes stare at the map, unseeing. Wicke is crouching next to her, whispering words of consolation and gripping her hand tightly; it leaves her too busy to attempt to wrangle the other nobles. 

Moon’s frown deepens, ignoring the courtiers talking over each other about how the king must have lost his mind just like his mother, of what the other kingdoms will think, and she notices a glaringly empty spot on one of the islands. 

“Why is no one being sent to Puu o ka Po?” 

The room falls silent, the nobles looking at her as though she’s sprouted another head, and she feels her anger spike, though she keeps her voice even as she asks, “We all know he’s there, so why aren’t we sending a search party?” 

Faba, who’s of course appointed himself the leader of the search, is the one to answer, adjusting his spectacles so he can better look at her like the remains of a mosquito he’s killed. “That forest is dangerous beyond belief – you as a native should know that.” 

“All the more reason to get him out of there as soon as possible.” 

He sighs, rubbing his temples, and Moon tells herself to be patient, that he still has a heart, can still be reasoned with. Court politics aside, surely they realize a young man’s life is at risk, a young man they’ve all seen grow since childhood, should have all had a hand in his upbringing. They should know just as well as her that Gladion is the best of them, a life more precious than there are words for. 

“I cannot assume you should understand the intricacies of an operation such as this, but rest assured, the council does and can do without your... _simple-minded_ advice.” Faba gives her a sickly sweet smile, and then he turns back to the nobles at his side, and the room resumes its chaos, content to ignore her. 

Moon seethes, lets the white noise wash over her as years of snide comments and sideways looks boil her blood, and then she feels the last of her patience snap in half like a twig. 

Her dagger cuts through the forest on Ula’ula, buries itself deep into the wood of the table, and the room is silent once more. The courtiers stare at her, wide-eyed and frozen into silence. 

She suspects a map like this is an incredibly expensive endeavor, and it fills her with a petty joy that she’s shredded this one up. Maybe now they’ll listen to their purse strings, if they can so easily quiet their humanity. 

“Cowards,” she spits, looking each of them in the eye, trying to keep herself from lunging across the table at them. “You’re cowards, every one of you! You finally have a king that can lead you to greatness, already has, and you sacrifice him at the slightest inconvenience. Have you no shame? Have you no honor?” 

Faba bristles, wags a finger that she briefly considers cutting off as he squeals, “Miss Moon, I do not know how such things are handled in Alola–” 

“Better than this horseshit.” She stands up straight, crosses her arms once more and feels such contempt for these pitiful excuses of nobles that she wonders why she ever let them invade her mind. With her head held high, she tells them through grit teeth, with no lack of pride, “We screw our courage to the sticking place, and we don’t leave our own to die.” 

“If you want to get yourself killed, then it is no skin off my nose,” Faba sneers, opening his mouth, no doubt to throw her out of the room, maybe out of the castle entirely, when Wicke stands, holding up a single hand to stop him. 

A tug at Moon’s sleeve draws her attention, and she looks down to see Lillie standing with a soft frown. She thinks for a moment that the princess might stop her, might beg for her to not go, but then she’s pulling her into a hug. 

“You are the only one I trust to actually bring him back.” She gives the knight a small smile, and here family’s conviction has passed onto her, in the quiet strength she shows when she turns to look at Faba with a tone face and a single raised brow. “And when she does, Lord Faba, I expect your apology to be ready.” 

The man splutters, the other courtiers whispering to each other, but Moon can’t bring herself to care about any of that. She gives Lillie another hug, and Wicke gives her shoulder an encouraging pat as she walks past, but her mind is already thinking of what to bring with her, of what precautions she’ll need to take, of what she’ll finally say to him when she sees Gladion again. 

When she reaches the door, a thought occurs to her with a snort that transforms into a laugh by the time she’s opened the door out into the hall. She stops herself, hand still on the doorknob as she laughs, hysterical and uncaring and so wonderfully free. 

“What on earth could you be cackling about?” 

She turns at Faba’s accusation, her face calming down into a smirk, eyes regaining that mirth she was once sure this palace would steal from her. 

“I just thought of a joke,” she tells him sweetly, delighting in how his mouth twists into a scowl. “How many Aetherians does it take to get things done?” 

The court is silent, and she realizes, in this moment, that she’s won. 

“None. An Alolan has to do it.” 

She slams the door shut behind her, leaving them to gape like fish and cry over their coin purses and wounded egos, knowing that she has much better things to think about. 

* * *

Kahuna Nanu is gracious enough to meet her at the dock and lead her to Puu o ka Po, though he’s less than encouraging. “Of course, anyone is free to enter,” he tells her at one point, his deadpan expression never faltering as he looks over at her and adds with a shrug, “It’s getting out that’s the problem.” 

Still, she steels her nerves, her green cloak billowing behind her, bow and quiver jostling slightly with every step. There is no going back; the moment she learned Gladion was in danger, the very idea of giving up left her. She has always protected him, and she always will, and if that means having to go against a physician’s orders, scare a few nobles, and brave a doomed forest, so be it. 

She knows there’s nothing in this world she wouldn’t do for him – she has entangled her demise to him because she loves him, and if she survives this, maybe she can finally say the words out loud. 

Nanu leaves her at the edge, and she takes a moment to take her bow in hand and adjust her cloak. She remembers how he made her promise to never enter this forest, to swear that she wouldn’t risk it. With a huff, she steps over a tree root and adds another item to her list of grievances with him. 

“If he gets free reign to be a reckless idiot, then so do I.” 

And into the forest she goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moon, on day 3 of her bed rest, glaring at the ceiling: he's going to do something stupid while I can't stop him, isn't he?
> 
> this chapter was a bit of a doozy to write because so much sheer plot has to take place, but it's finally time to get into the more fantastical elements of this fairy tale
> 
> also, according to the translator I used, "Puu o ka Po" should be Hawaiian for something along the lines of "Hill of the Night," but if anyone knows better / something closer please let me know!


	5. Mercy

Moon has spent her childhood in the wilds of Alola, learning to hunt at a young age and spending long afternoons fishing with her mother. 

But that has never left her body as aching and alert as trudging through Puu o ka Po, with its ever-shifting shadows and cries of foreign animals, always just behind her. At least in the forest itself, the heavy rain is lessened by the thousands of branches above her, though the ground still turns to mud under foot, dark dirt and clay clinging to her boots and staining her trousers. 

The worst of it, though, is that she’s seen no signs of life. She can hear animals, can feel the tingle of an old magic in her bones, swirling around her like the fog among the tree roots, and there’s the occasional animal track or bird nest; and yet, she feels profoundly alone, as though she’s been here for millennia and the rest of the world has left her. 

She pauses in her walking, taking a moment to lean against a koa tree and catch her breath. Though she’s been here at least a few hours, it’s hard to say how many exactly, or how much forest she has left to explore. Calling out Gladion’s name has gone unanswered, and she has yet to come across a banyan tree, confirming to her that she’ll have to spend the night in the woods. 

And nights are when the real monsters begin their hunt. 

With a sigh, she reaches into her pocket, and pulls out one of the multitudes of white string she brought. She slings her bow over her shoulder and finds a low branch, tying the string and still not convinced that the forest hasn’t been untying all of her previous ones. She finishes the bow, and then takes a moment to look up at the tree with a halfhearted smile. 

“If you kill me, will you at least let me haunt that ass Faba instead of becoming one of your Skullwalkers?” 

A scarlet bird lands on the tree, several branches above her, and Moon feels at least a little of her tension melt at finally seeing another sign of life. The little bird gives a chirp, then tilts its head at her, watching her smile. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she mumbles, giving the trunk a pat before continuing on, “Or as a final farewell to my sanity.” 

As she walks, a strange smell hits her noise, something floral yet oddly sterile – something that decidedly doesn’t belong in a forest. She slows her pace, takes cover behind a tree as she glances around and takes her bow in hand, and then she sees it. 

Long, tall, and blindingly white, one of the creatures from the lost king’s journals is only a few yards away from her. Its antennae twitch, and the smell is growing stronger, despite Moon trying to cover her nose and mouth with her cloak. Her feet are rooted to the ground, body seemingly paralyzed as she can only watch the lithe creature – Pheromosa, she recalls – search for something amongst the trees. 

Hala used to regale the children of Iki Town with stories of a similar creature, a bug disguising itself as a beautiful, pale woman. It would lure unsuspecting Alolans closer with its captivating form, emanating a powerful perfume, and even if the victim wizened up to the true nature of the beast and ran, the long legs of the bug would carry it far faster than any human could travel, perfume paralyzing its next meal. 

The creature turns, antennae pointing directly at Moon. 

She sprints away, heart hammering as she hears branches snapping behind her, feels that smell trying to cloud her senses and lock up her limbs. 

A pincer swipes at her back, nearly grabbing her cloak, and she takes a sharp turn, trying to weave amongst the trees to slow the beast down. It seems to work, as the smell grows fainter, but Moon keeps running, trying to put as much distance as possible between them, and then she’s at a muddy embankment and she places her right foot down only to feel the ground slide and crumble beneath her, sending her tumbling down. 

Her body stops just before she hits the river, and she quickly scurries back under a hollow created by a tree’s roots. Blood roars in her ears as she holds her breath, waiting and praying silently to the tapus as seconds go by. 

The smell returns, and her body locks, and she swears this is the end for her. 

Then it’s gone, the sound of pincers growing faint, and she lets out a breath. She crawls out, standing and taking hold of her bow once more, about to climb back up the embankment when she hears a growl to her left. 

She’s turning to face the source of the noise with an arrow nocked in a blink, body tense as she faces her newest threat. 

Further down, just next to the water, lies a chimera of feathers and scales and claws. Eyes glare at her from the shadows of a rusted metal cage surrounding the head, a growl filling the air and reverberating in her chest. 

“Go on. Shoot me.” 

She falters, nearly convincing herself that she’s made the voice up, that she must have knocked her head against a rock on her tumble, but there’s something so unnervingly human in the creature’s gaze. Her eyes flicker to the torso, and she sees a long gash along the beast’s side, how it labors to take deep, wheezing breaths. 

Her bow lowers, and a corner of her lips quirks up into a smirk. 

“Well when you tell me to, it takes all the fun out of it.” 

With her bow back on a shoulder and the arrow joining the others in the quiver, she takes a few cautious steps forward, only for that unearthly growl to fill the space between her and force her to stop. 

“Leave me,” he growls, but rather than intimidating it rings pitiful in her ears, like the dying wish of someone who feels hopelessly alone. 

“You’re hurt.” 

“It’s what I deserve.” 

She raises a brow, the last of her fear leaving her as she mumbles under her breath, “Awfully melodramatic of you.” 

Of the threats she could encounter here, she’s more or less decided that this chimera isn’t one of them. The sight of the poor thing, injured and alone at the bottom of a muddy embankment, seems closer to a charity case than a trap. Besides, if the apothecary shop has taught her anything, it’s to heal those who need it, and if growing up on Melemele has taught her anything, it’s that every creature has a place in this world. She gets the feeling that this creature’s place isn’t a shallow grave next to a river. 

However, he seems intent on refusing her, closing his eyes as his body heaves another sigh, the gash staring at her, angry and red. “You should not be here. Leave me and this forest at once.” 

She frowns at him a moment longer, and then she shrugs, turning and climbing back up the embankment, too focused on not sliding back down to catch his relieved sigh. 

The forest grows quiet, the noise of the river taking the place of animal cries. The chimera keeps his eyes closed and slows his breathing, letting the sharp ache in his side consume him. 

Then he hears something sliding back down the embankment and opens his eyes, readying himself for a fight, for a final blow, only to see the girl in the green cloak climbing back down with a bundle of green herbs and leaves in her hand. 

Moon walks to the river, finds a fairly large, flat stone and piles the medicinal herbs she’s gathered onto it. She washes her hands in the cold water, and then gets on her knees, reaching for another stone, the closest shaped to a pestle that she can see along the river’s edge, and begins crushing the greens. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Believe me, you don’t want to die of an infection,” she replies, glancing up at the injured creature as she pauses in grinding down the herbs. The sound of stone scraping against stone fills the air once more as she continues her work in creating a paste. “This should clean things up and speed the healing process along.” 

Once she finally has the consistency she desires, she sets aside her makeshift pestle and lifts her stone tablet of medicine, slowly approaching the beast. He only stares at her, no indications that he’s going to move or chastise her, seeming to have given up and accepted his fate as her patient. She feels her breath leave her body when she’s next to him, better able to observe the plethora of pelts and skins that make up his body, as though the forest itself has conjured him, borrowing something from every creature it houses – perhaps it did. 

With the gentlest touch she can manage, she begins spreading the salve along the gash, gauging his reaction as he does. There seems to be no stinging or other unpleasant sensations, as he does not growl or flinch, and so she keeps going, careful not to pull at the injured skin and risk widening the wound. 

The chimera stares at her, watching her work in silence, brows knit together in concentration. A hum vibrates through his body, forcing her to pause and look at him as he asks with a sneer in his tone, “You’d show a beast kindness?” 

She furrows her brows. “What else would I do?” He has no retort for her, and so she shrugs and goes back to covering the last of the gash with the light green paste she’s made. “Besides, you’re the first...being I’ve been able to have an actual conversation with. Unless this is all in my head.” 

He remains silent, and her fingers pause as she lets out a nervous chuckle, looking with a touch of desperation to his eyes. 

“...it’s not all in my head, is it?” 

“Not unless we share the same head.” It’s enough to soothe her, and she finishes her work, setting down the rock and standing back up. In an instant, he feels skin repairing itself, as though it’s cloth weaving itself back together. She stares with wide eyes as he’s able to stand, the salve absorbing into his torso and leaving behind untouched skin with nary a scar. “What on earth was in that mixture?” 

She shakes her head. “I have a feeling that’s more _your_ doing than mine.” 

They’re left then in silence, as she takes her bow in hand once more, and he shakes his head, the rusted iron cage rattling with the movement. “I thank you for the help, but you must leave at once.” 

“And I will, but I need to find someone first.” She tilts her head, holding a hand a foot above her head as she describes, “Have you seen a pale, blond young man? Green eyes? Tall and built a bit like a beanpole?” 

He bristles, the feathers at the top of his head trying to flutter, but the iron bar holding them in place stifles the movement. “I...no, I haven’t.” 

“What about a witch named Acerola?” 

At this the beast roars, taking a step towards her, though she doesn’t flinch, instead simply seeming unamused by his show of anger. “She’s far too dangerous for you to find.” 

Moon rolls her eyes, and decides instead to turn her attention to climbing back up the embankment as she explains, “Which is exactly why I need to find her, because I’m sure that idiot went and tracked her down, and I doubt it was for a friendly chat.” 

For a moment, the chimera is quiet, and when he speaks once more his voice is softer, thoughtful even. 

“He seems important if you’re willing to take such a risk.” 

Her foot nearly slips on another patch of mud, forcing her to catch herself on her hands. “He’s a king, so I’d say so. And I swore to protect him, so here I am.” 

“Nothing can change your mind?” 

“And nothing can stop me,” she huffs, finally reaching the top once more with a triumphant grin. She holds her bow in one hand, fixes the other to her hip as she looks down at the chimera. “If you could guide me to Acerola’s tree, I’d greatly appreciate it, otherwise I wouldn’t waste your breath trying to convince me to leave.” 

He holds her eye for a moment longer, and then in two swift leaps – she mutters “showboat” under her breath – he joins her back on the forest floor. With a nod of his head, he sets off, following a map in his head or an instinct that all forest inhabitants have when it comes to Acerola’s magic. “Very well then – you’ll be safer if we go together.” 

She hurries to catch up to him, nearly tripping over a tree root as she follows his footsteps with a renewed vigor. 

“Together it is, then.” 

* * *

They’ve been traveling for some time now, the sun beginning to set and painting the forest in vibrant oranges and greens, except for untouched, shadowed corners that the pair avoids. 

As they walk through the little maze of trunks of a banyan tree – far too small and not nearly deep enough in the forest to be Acerola’s – Moon decides to try once more at getting a conversation out of the reticent chimera. 

“So, bit of a rude question, but what exactly are you?” 

He grunts, walking around another bundle of branches. “I am what I am.” 

“You don’t know then,” she deadpans, biting back a chuckle at his irritated growl. She rolls her shoulders, feels her bow and quiver jostle with the movement, and then has her mind settle on the most innocuous of the myriad of questions she has for the beast. “Do you have a name?” 

“Null.” Before she can think on it, can make a snide remark on his response being his name or a confirmation that he doesn’t have one at all, he asks, “What should I call you?” 

“Moon.” 

She pushes aside a curtain of vines and moss as they walk deeper into the forest. Here, life begins to abound, with birds flying past her head, and even several mongoose peeking at her from behind tree roots and skittering across her path, narrowly avoiding her feet. It helps put her mind at ease and makes her even surer that she’s getting that much closer to Acerola, which means she’s that much closer to seeing Gladion again. 

Null hums, slowing in his steps as he turns his head to examine her, iron cage creaking with the effort. “And you brought no one else with you.” 

“No one else would come.” She rolls her eyes, adding with a huff, “Besides, none of those stuffy Aetherians would give the king the tongue lashing he deserves.” 

“You don’t care for him.” 

It nearly sounds like an accusation and takes her so aback that she stops walking entirely, forcing the beast to stop as well and face her. She barks a single note of an incredulous laugh, and then her expression becomes a challenge as she raises a brow. 

“Do you think I’d be following a talking chimera through a deadly forest days after I’ve been shot with an arrow if I didn’t care for him?” 

He blinks, seems to clear his throat, though the sound is closer to a bird’s chirp. “Perhaps you lack a sense of self-preservation.” 

“No, unfortunately, I care far too much for that infuriating man.” She shakes her head, looks around at the small clearing they’ve found as she continues, somewhere between hysterical and hurt, “I leave him for a week, and he goes and does something stupidly heroic, because that’s who he is and that’s why I–” 

Her words fall flat, silence sharp as she catches herself. She shrugs off her bow, setting it in hand and picking out a spot for a fire as she mumbles, “We should stop for the night. I need to eat, and we’ll surely run into a night terror if we keep going.” 

Null looks at her a moment longer, something clouding his eyes, and then it’s gone. 

* * *

The sun lends her its light for just long enough to set up a fire, gather up some berries, and hunt a rabbit. She takes another bite of her dinner at their makeshift campsite, eyes flickering to Null. He’s reclining as far away as possible, attending to a scrape on his right front leg. 

With a quick whistle she draws his attention, holding out a piece of cooked rabbit meat towards him. “Sure you don’t want any?” 

“I don’t hunger.” He tilts his head, then looks at the ground in front of him in thought. “I don’t tire, either. I...am getting used to this form. Of life in stasis.” 

Moon stares at him, face impassive as she asks, “What were you before?” 

“Something else.” 

“You’re irritatingly mysterious.” She takes another bite of rabbit, popping the last of the berries she gathered into her mouth with a frown. 

“I like to keep to myself,” he explains, chest puffing up. 

She hums, finishing off the rabbit. “Seems lonely.” 

He’s quiet for a moment, and then Null is looking away, further into the woods as his voice grows distant. “It keeps me from getting hurt.” 

Moon stills, her chest clenching, and she finds herself trying to blink the memory of Gladion in the library out of her eyes. She can practically hear the distant sounds of the ball, can feel his lips ghosting her skin as he makes her promises that she couldn’t bear. 

She adds an apology to the list of things to tell him – after yelling at him for running off, of course. 

The air feels thicker as she turns to look at Null once more. 

“Is that what that cage is for?” 

He turns to look at her again, blinking, and she swears if he had brows they would be furrowed in this moment. “No, it’s actually quite a bother when I try to lie down.” 

They stare at each other, and then she’s laughing, and he joins in as well, sounding a bit like the poi dogs who loiter around Hau’oli City. 

An idea occurs to her as her gaze slides over to a nearby rock. 

“I could break it off for you, if you want.” He turns to see her picking up the rock, looking between it and the cage on his head, running calculations in her mind. “Looks like it’s more rust than metal at this point.” 

He thinks for a moment, and then he inclines his head towards her silently. She stands, walking to him and beginning with the iron bare on his feathers, minding her fingers as she keeps a good grip on the metal and strikes at it with the rock. Her guess at the state of it is correct, and she’s able to break the weakened metal fairly easily, sliding it off of him before moving onto the cage. 

She’s careful of the spikes, instead aiming for a latch at the back of his head. It’s a bit trickier than the simple iron bar, but sure enough she breaks most of it. Setting the rock down, she then tears the rest apart with her bare hands, letting out a hiss at one point before sliding the helmet off of him entirely. 

“Are you hurt?” he asks, concern coating his voice as he tries to look at her. 

Stepping back into his line of sight, she shakes her head, though she keeps her left hand clenched in a fist. “It’s nothing – you look good without the cage. Very dapper.” 

He holds her gaze, emerald against steel, and simply gives a nod. “I will have to take your word for it.” 

At the very least it feels much better, less stifling as he feels a night breeze ruffle through his feathers. He shakes them out, and she gives him a smile before turning to put out the fire; they don’t need the smoke drawing attention from any Skullwalkers or otherworldly beasts later tonight. 

She then lays out her cloak on the ground and begins undoing the fastens of her quiver and leather chest plate, turning to look at Null over her shoulder. 

“Can I trust you to not murder me in my sleep?” 

“There’s no good answer to that.” 

Her chuckle is her only answer as she lies down on her cloak, deciding to keep her bracers and boots on as she tries to make herself as comfortable as possible on the ground. “Good night,” she mumbles through a yawn, body finally giving up on here and drowning her into a dreamless, exhausted rest. 

He watches her fall asleep, how her breath becomes deep and even. Her clothes are torn and caked in dirt, her calloused hands collecting mud under the fingernails and her cheeks covered in a light dust. As another breeze passes, a small shiver runs through her and she curls up smaller. Her left hand lies palm facing up by her head, and he can see a small cut on it, no doubt the source of her earlier hiss of pain. 

She’s small and vulnerable, and yet he knows she could conquer this forest with a single shot from her bow if she wanted. 

Still, this can’t be comfortable, and the cold is getting to her as she shivers once more. 

With a slight frown, he walks closer to her, stopping when she stirs, then continuing when she remains asleep. He settles next to her, just close enough to lend his body heat, and finds that without a need to sleep, he’s more than happy to watch the breath draw in and out of her parted lips. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moon should really negotiate for a raise when she gets back to Aether considering the amount of times she's nearly died already
> 
> bit of a shorter one to help balance out the plot-heavier stuff, but don't worry, that'll be back in spades tomorrow with "wander"


	6. Wander

In the early hours, fog descends upon Puu o ka Po, and a jaunty tune fills the air. 

Moon stirs, sitting up still half-asleep as the familiar song pulls her from a dream. Null stands from his spot next to her, but she has no time to realize how close he’s gotten when voices rise above the fog and her blood runs cold. 

_What shall we do with a drunken sailor,_   
_What shall we do with a drunken sailor,_   
_What shall we do with a drunken sailor,_   
_Early in the morning?_

She knows it has to be Skullwalkers, those doomed spirits of sailors left to die in the forest, and she only has moments before they descend upon her. There’s not enough time to put her cloak and chest plate back on, but she can grab her bow and quiver as she scans their clearing. 

As the singing grows closer and Null grows restless, she finds that on the other side of the clearing is a strange patch of bamboo she doesn’t remember being there last night. With half of an idea forming, she slings her bow and quiver across her shoulders and begins climbing the closest tree. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Not all of us are immune to the forest’s magic like you,” she says, too focused on getting as high up into the branches to hide herself as possible to actually look at Null. “But I’m about to do something risky.” 

“Are you asking for permission?” 

She pauses for a moment, right hand nearly slipping from the branch she’s grabbed. After a look down at the chimera that he can’t decipher, she smirks. “No, it’s a warning.” 

Her body disappears into the leaves, leaving him to stand by the tree and watch as another wave of fog enters the clearing, and the singing continues as a chill travels through the air. 

_Weigh_ _heigh_ _and up she rises,_   
_Weigh_ _heigh_ _and up she rises,_   
_Weigh heigh and up she rises,_   
_Early in the morning_

A trio of translucent skeletons dressed in tattered remains of culottes and waterlogged boots ramble their way into the clearing, jeering and singing amongst themselves. Bright blue and pink flames fill their eye sockets as they begin searching the clearing, ignoring Null and instead fixating on the cloak and chest plate on the ground. 

An arrow whizzes past them, getting their attention as it misses their heads by a few inches and buries itself in one of the thick bamboo stalks. 

_Put him in bed with the captain’s daughter_

Null bristles, realizing Moon’s singing, and the Skullwalkers cheer as they walk towards the tree, bones creaking with each movement. Another arrow goes over their heads and into the bamboo. 

_Put him in bed with the captain’s daughter_

The chimera very nearly shouts up at the knight to aim better, especially when the Skullwalkers slow, ambling steps bring them only a few feet from the tree, but then she sends another arrow straight into a bamboo stalk, and the plant shudders. 

With wide eyes, he realizes what’s happening, and begins to back away as the ground begins to shake, the ghosts paying it no heed as they join in to finish the verse. 

_Put him in bed with the captain’s daughter,_   
_Early in the morning!_

Right as they cheer, the bamboo beast comes fully to life with a roar, turning in the ground and spotting the rowdy skeleton sailors. A large, bamboo arm comes crashing down, snapping branches and hitting the ground hard enough to leave an impression in the dirt. The Skullwalkers shriek, beginning to scatter and run off into the forest, the bamboo creature lifting itself and floating after them, bringing its arms down to strike at even intervals. 

Once they’re all out of sight, Moon hops down from the tree with an adrenaline-fueled smile that turns into a laugh. “Weigh heigh, and up Celesteela rises.” 

As she sets her bow and quiver down to put on her leather chest plate, Null looks between her and the direction in which the ghosts and creature went off, the fog slowly dissipating around them. With a shake of his head, he fixes his gaze on her, tilting his head as she fastens her cloak. 

“Who on earth taught you that shanty?” 

“The sailors my mother sells to.” With everything back in place, she lets out a breath, ready to continue the final leg of their journey as she gives him an impish smile. “I have seven more verses if you’d like some music to start the day.” 

He groans. “I’d rather not.” 

Her laugh rings out behind him as he begins leading the way, and a few moments later, she hums the tune to herself as she avoids tree roots below and vines above. 

Quiet as can be, he joins in. 

* * *

When he tells her they’re moments from seeing the tree, she only hums, having been lost in her own thoughts for the past hour. She’s grown quiet, so much so that he finds himself looking over his shoulder just to check that she’s still there. 

He hums, breaking the silence. “I suppose this all has you wishing you had never been chosen as a knight.” 

“Hardly,” she scoffs, snapping herself out of her reverie as she adds with a grin, “What other women my age could say they’ve seen the things I have, ventured where no one else has dared to?” 

Then she falters, voice growing slightly softer as a bird cries in the distance. “Besides, what else is there for me to be?” 

“An apothecary, perhaps.” 

“Not a bad idea, but I lack the proper bedside manner, and I’d grow bored of working in a shop within a year.” 

Null glances at her for a long moment, then turns his eyes to the path of magic he’s following, histone far too even to be entirely conversational. “Then being a wife is also out of the question.” 

“It is since I became a knight.” She looks up, tries to see a sliver of the sky in a crack in the canopy, but it’s near impossible. 

“I’d think you’d receive several marriage offers because of it.” 

A nervous chuckle escapes her, and then she’s clearing her throat with a sigh. She’s walking beside him now, their steps slowing despite being so close to their final goal. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, eyes fixed firmly to the ground as a ghost of a frown traces her lips. “There was one. But he was drunk off wine...and the king.” 

Null’s pace is barely a walk when he asks, “You rejected him?” 

She shrugs, looks ahead as she matches his steps. “I couldn’t exactly accept. There’s no way for us to marry, and it’d hardly be a practical political move to marry a foreign commoner.” 

A long, quiet moment passes between the two, and then they aren’t walking, simply standing next to each other and staring into the forest beyond. Pale blue lights glow through the trees, and with just a few more steps, they’ll reach Acerola. 

Null clears his throat. 

“If you manage to save him, and he asked you again,” he whispers, looking at her out of the corner of his eye, “Would you reject him?” 

“I don’t know. Possibly.” She crosses her arms, brow twitching in irritation when she huffs, “But I do know I’ll give him an earful for running into this forsaken forest, and for thinking he had to do it without me.” 

He chuckles, and a small smile passes through her face before she turns to find the tree next to her interesting. She traces the knots on the bark, hiding her face from him as he waits. When she finally speaks, her hand stills, and her voice shakes around the edges. 

“I’d tell him I was sorry for breaking his heart. I’d tell him that I’m thankful I was able to meet him in this lifetime, that he saw something in me and taught me so much. I’d say that every day I wake up and look forward to seeing him, to our conversations, and that it’s hardly been over a week, but I miss him more than my heart can bare.” 

Her whisper barely carries over the breeze and into his ears. “And I’d tell him that I love him.” 

Then she’s turning and holding his stare, shoulders squared. 

“But then, you already knew that,” she mumbles, a lopsided smile pulling at a corner of her lips, “Didn’t you, Gladion?” 

For a moment, he opens his mouth to argue, top feathers bristling, but then they flatten and he looks down, sheepish. 

“When did you realize?” 

“When I said you were a beanpole and you were offended.” He squawks, literally squawks, and she laughs at his expense, face growing soft if a touch more serious. “Lots of little things, I suppose. But seeing your eyes, up close without the cage, confirmed it.” 

He can’t hold her gaze, a tired sigh leaving him as he looks down at the ground, and he remembers everything he’s put her through, everything she still may go through because of him and this one awful decision. 

“I’m sorry, Moon.” 

“I am, too,” she whispers, and she’s stepping forward, running a hand soothingly down his neck. She has her own regrets with him, but at least she got all the way down to her apology on the list of what to tell him. 

He leans into her touch with a frown. “She may not change me back.” 

“I have an idea. Follow my lead.” She gives him a wink, more confident than he’s seen her in months, and he knows that they're in this together. 

As they walk forward into the clearing of the banyan tree, clusters of Nihilego float around the trunks. Gladion hangs back, forcing himself to keep from attacking them as he watches Moon walk past them, awed but calm as she walks towards the center without ever reaching for her bow. 

“Oh, you’re back.” The voice draws their gaze up to Acerola, who sits in her spot at the top of the main trunk, observing the two with a frown. It shifts into a smile when she looks at Moon. “And you brought a friend!” 

She moves her hands with palms facing out in a little circle. “Alola, Acerola.” 

The witch returns the gesture, her smile never faltering as she replies sweetly, “Alola. Who are you?” 

“I’m Moon, the best damn knight you’ll ever meet.” 

“I’ll say so, considering you made it this far.” She giggles, and hops off the trunk, body floating slowly down to the ground like a feather, or like one of the Nihilego that surround her, cooing as she passes. 

When her feet touch the forest floor, she’s much shorter than either of them, looking between the two as her face twists in disapproval. “Don’t tell me you want me to change him back – it’s hardly been two days and he killed a forest spirit.” 

Moon turns to Gladion, face a deadpan as she huffs, “Seriously?” 

His feathers flatten, head dipping for a moment as both of their glares are directed at him. Acerola shakes her head, turning her attention back to the knight with a frown of pity. “Poor little thing didn’t even do anything to him. Surely you understand.” 

“I do.” She clears her throat, and leans towards the witch, conspiratorially whispering loud enough for Gladion to hear, “That’s why I’m offering to take him off your hands for you.” 

“Whaddya mean?” Acerola narrows her eyes, equal parts confused and suspicious. 

Moon sighs, not unlike the countless frustrated one she gave him when they first met. She gestures back to him, voice laced in irritation as she explains, “Listen, you won’t meet anyone half as stubborn as he is. If he was so hot-blooded to attack a creature in a fit, then no amount of years spent dwelling in this forest can change him. And now, he even has _greater_ power to harm.” 

Gladion is a quick study, and he turns to the nearest Nihilego, crouching and letting loose a growl that has the poor creature letting out a soft cry and floating further up into the air. 

As Acerola begins to nervously titter, Moon shakes her head. “Between you and me, he’s rather fussy, too. He’ll find any reason to be upset and won’t hesitate to complain about it.” 

“Are you quite done? I have been waiting here with my own grievances to air, starting with the ludicrously early hour in which I was disturbed by your Skullwalkers.” They turn to look at him, and he adds a puff of his chest for good measure. It feels a bit much, but the look of absolute horror that Acerola gives him is enough to have him play up the role. 

With a snap of her fingers, a blinding light overtakes his form, and he feels himself being lifted in the air, forced out of this body, hanging for a moment, and then shoved back into his real body. He lands with a heaving gasp, hand clutching his chest as he looks down to find that his clothes are all the same, though his sword is noticeably missing. 

“Take him.” 

Moon looks at him with wide eyes, fighting the smile that wants to split her face and the urge to rush forward into his arms. Instead, she nods gruffly, walking to him with her shoulders up as she barks, “At once. Now come along, Your Majesty.” 

“Oh, you can drop the trick now. It was very amusing, but the love between you two ruins it.” 

They freeze, gazes slowly going back to Acerola, who only smiles as she floats up to land herself on the head of a Nihilego. She gives them an eyeroll, though her previous smile is back in place as she waves a hand at them. “Please just kiss before the whole forest stinks of your bottled-up feelings.” 

When Gladion looks back down at her, Moon is staring up at him with the beginnings of an incredulous laugh, one that he gladly steals from her mouth as he wraps his arms around her, relishing in how her strong, calloused hands gently cup his face, how her body melts against him and she looks up at him with a warm smile when they finally pull away. 

“One more thing.” 

Acerola and the Nihilego approach them, the witch holding out her hands. Orbs of purple light gather, and then there’s a vial of that blue poison on a golden chain in her hands. She hops off the Nihilego, hands outstretched towards Gladion, who quickly ducks his head low enough for her to place it over his head. 

“I don’t know what happened to your parents, but after your time in my forest, I’ve felt the pain it’s caused you. It must have been an accident with one of the beasts.” He stands, fingering the vial as she frowns softly. “If your mother was afflicted by the poison, then here is enough of it to create an antidote.” 

He gives her a nod, swallowing the lump forming in his throat. “Thank you, Acerola. I’m sorry for the trouble I’ve caused you.” 

She smiles again, gaze growing hazy as she tilts her head. “I think I remember your father. He was always so curious, so eager to learn more about these beasts – I wonder if you’ll one day be the same way.” 

“I have a lot to learn. My kingdom does as well. One day, we’ll begin his studies anew.” He turns to look at Moon, who smiles at him as he adds with his own grin, “With the help of someone who’s always believed.” 

Acerola hums her approval, waving her hand in the air as the king and knight interlace their fingers. When they turn, they find a line of trees with white string bows on their branches. They follow their path, glancing back to wave goodbye to Acerola as the witch waves back, form slowly fading as the Nihilego turn to floating lights once more. 

* * *

A murmur ripples through the docks when their ship lands, a few guards trailing behind them as Moon and Gladin walk side by side. Crowds begin to gather, and news is quick to spread, so that by the time they reach the palace itself, townspeople have flooded to them, shouting and cheering and clapping. 

They pause in the gate, Gladion turning to gesture to his knight, and she only laughs, shyly waving as the crowd roars, the noise following them as they make their way into the castle. 

Lillie is the first to run to them, throwing her arms around both with tears streaming down her face, whispers of how she knew they’d come back, how happy she is to see them. She also, through her tears, gives her brother’s arms and chest a few admonishing smacks, sniffling out that he better not pull a stunt like this again or else she won’t let Moon save him. 

He takes it in stride with a smile, the other courtiers around them laughing softly. As he passes off the vial to her, Lillie’s eyes lighting up when he explains what Acerola told him about a possible cure, Moon’s attention is drawn away by Wicke clearing her throat. 

She turns to see Wicke smiling and holding Faba by the arm, the man squirming in her grip and clearly looking for an escape as the noblewoman says simply, “I believe something is owed here.” 

Faba clears his throat, only to groan when Moon returns holds his gaze with a wide smirk. “I do...That is to say...If I must, I–” He chokes on air as Wicke tightens her grip on his arm, leaving him gasping for a moment before he blurts, “I apologize, Miss Moon.” 

She hums, letting the moment sink in. It’s not as satisying as she once dreamed it would be, perhaps because she’s long since realized that Faba’s opinion, and really any opinion of the court, amounts to the worth of a rat’s ass to her. Still, she smiles, because it’s the cherry on top of today and she can’t wait to see the look on his face with what she’s about to unleash upon him. 

“Well, that puts me in a generous mood, so I have good news, Lord Faba. You see, I’ll be leading the charge to pick up where Mohn’s studies left off.” 

He falters, regards her suspiciously, and then she tells him with a wicked spark in her eyes, “And I’ve chosen you as my first underling.” 

Wicke lets go of him with a laugh, the two watching the man gape and gasp like a fish before turning to the others who sweep them up in their joyous parade further into the palace. As they laugh, listening to Lillie arrange a feast for their arrival, sending servants and courtiers flying in every direction, Faba simply stands by the entrance, stupefied. 

When they round another corner, Wicke and Lillie devising a menu with others chiming in, Moon feels a tug on her hand, lets Gladion slide her out of the crowd and into a side hallway. 

Her back hits the wall with a giggle, like a schoolgirl with a crush, like a knight with a love, and he kisses her senseless for the fifth time today, hands wandering her body as if to check that she’s real. He’s grinning down at her, whispering excitedly, nearly hysterical after today’s events, “You really love me?” 

She raises a brow at him, lifts his chin with her finger. “After everything I’ve gone through for you, you really have the nerve to ask me that?” 

He has the decency to look sheepish, and she drops her act, mask of indignance cracking when she grabs him by the lapels into another kiss, more than a little satisfied with herself when he’s panting for breath by the end of it. She leans her forehead against his, smile warm and soft. 

“I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” His eyes lose their shine for a moment, hand tracing her cheekbone delicately. “I’m not sure where that leaves us. I know you loathe lofty promises.” 

“And I know you don’t want to be hurt again.” She places another kiss on his cheek, and she’s steady and sure enough for the both of them, feels herself intertwining the last hidden corners of her heart to his. “But these are things to worry about tomorrow. Tonight, we have a feast to attend.” 

Footsteps grow closer as Lillie’s voice bounces down the hall. “Gladion I swear, if you’ve run off again already...” 

“If Lillie doesn’t have our heads served as the appetizer,” he winces, and she chuckles, and he steals another kiss because he has her again and he knows better than to let her think for even a moment that he’ll let go. 

They separate, just enough for modesty, but every step is in time with each other, and they know as they rejoin the group and make their way to the dining hall that they will remain at each other’s side. 

And Gladion wonders, for just a moment, how he might get her ring size. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gladion, brooding through an existential crisis: I am but a shadow of my former self....a wretched beast...she cannot know my true identity, it would be far too painful....better that she think I were dead...
> 
> Moon, immediately clocking him: it'll be fun to see how long he can keep this up
> 
> we're nearly at the end! just a few loose ends to tie up for this particular story with tomorrow's prompt, "wish"


	7. Wish

Lillie, with all of her practice, is able to devise an antidote in less than a day, helping the doctors administer it to Lusamine. The effect is nearly instant, as though her body remains weak, the fog in her mind clears in moments, her eyes finally lucid as she looks upon the world as though just waking up. 

Her health is still precarious, and so she remains on bed rest, but her children visit her every day. Gladion sits by her bedside, listening with a smile as Lillie regales them with the status of the garden, their mother asking soft-spoken questions at various intervals about growth patterns and soil. 

“The magnolia tree father planted for your wedding is blooming once more, as well.” 

Lusamine smiles from her spot in bed, propped up by pillows, and reaches a hand up to cup her daughter’s cheek. “How lovely. I am so glad you were able to breathe life into it once more, but then who else could but our little princess.” 

“The doctors say you should be able to take short walks soon, I can show you then. The fresh air will do you good,” Lillie adds, placing a hand over her mother’s and giving it a gentle squeeze. She’s been the one spearheading her mother’s recovery, more than happy to take the responsibility from Gladion’s shoulders. Besides, she has the most working knowledge on medicine of them all now, even having surpassed Moon. 

Her mother hums, withdrawing her hand, the weak limb shaking slightly with the effort. “I look forward to it.” 

The room grows quiet for a moment, but it’s pleasant now, accompanied by a warm breeze from one of the open windows. Lillie looks over to her brother on the other side of the bed, noting his silence and finding that he’s fidgeting with his fingers in his lap, left hand shaking. 

A thought occurs to her, and she decides that she’ll need to be his catalyst, standing from her chair as she gives him a knowing grin. 

“I should go check on supper.” 

She exits the room quietly, leaving Gladion alone with his mother – they no longer keep a physician in her room, instead settling for check-ups every few hours by either Lillie or a doctor. He’s thankful for that fact, but it does little to give him any more courage in asking the question he’s been mulling over all afternoon. 

Lusamine is the first to break the silence, watching him with a frown. “I don’t believe I can ever repay the two of you.” 

“You don’t have to, mother,” he says quickly, looking up at her with his brow set. 

“Ah, but I do.” She looks down at her own hands, shaking her head. “You lost your childhood because of me.” 

He smirks, listening to a seagull cry in the distance. “I was never really a child.” 

“No, the nurses used to joke that they’d never seen a newborn scowl so much as you.” They share a quiet laugh, and then she’s sighing, eyes narrowing as she keeps her gaze on her hands, a memory tinting her voice in melancholy. “Still, the fact remains that you grew up without a mother. Without a mother’s love.” 

She looks up at him, hesitating only a moment before she explains, “Even before that night, I was so hesitant to love. Have no doubt in your mind that I loved your sister and you the moment I laid eyes on you, but to actually give that love was another matter entirely. 

“I grew up being told that to love too much was a sign of fragility, of weakness. I let my love sit inside my chest, too scared to let it out, and it began to rot. Even my love for your father, I...” 

Her voice trails off, nearly choking into a sob before she takes a deep breath, hands shaking as they clutch her heart. He watches with parted lips, stunned into silence as he watches Lusamine compose herself once more, his own chest aching with the thought of his father. It’s an ache that’s dulled since he began helping Moon organize their efforts to build on his work, but it’s there all the same, and he suspects that he’ll live with it for the rest of his life. 

“All that’s left of him is this love going to waste inside me, that he has never seen.” His mother looks at him with a sad smile, reaching for his hand which he freely gives. He can feel her bones, wonders if they’re hollow like a bird’s, and he realizes that his mother, even when she seemed like a raging animal, was never as strong as he imagined her. 

“I fear I’ve passed it onto you, some nights, that you will think the good and proper thing to do is to keep to yourself and wall up your heart. But it is an awful cruelty to yourself, one you should never commit.” 

“I won’t.” It’s a promise made under his breath, with a squeeze of her hand, careful not to break her. He reminds himself that one day she’ll be stronger, and one day they’ll talk more about this, about who his father was and lessons she has had to wait to pass onto him. 

But for now, this is more than enough, more of his mother than he’s had in over a decade, and he’s more than happy to leave it at that. They withdraw their hands at the same time, and Lusamine smiles, the air becoming lighter once more as the marching feet of the changing of the guard gives them enough background noise to break the tension. 

“Lillie tells me about a girl you’ve been hiding from me – Moon.” 

His heart stops, and he swallows the words that are clogging his throat. He tries to read his mother’s expression, but it’s only mirth and curiosity. For a second, he thinks of asking her outright, but despite her talk of love, he’s not sure where she stands on his future marriage. She’s always been a shrewd politician, and so he plays his cards closer to his chest, deciding to bide his time a little longer as he tries to reassemble the words. 

“She’s my personal guard.” 

Lusamine hums. “She’s very pretty, from what I’ve seen.” Her gaze slides to her left hand, to the simple golden band that sits on it, toying with the emerald on top of it as she muses, “Holds herself with poise, and acts with honor and nobility.” 

Gladion feels his body freeze, forces himself to remain still and not let his heart fly into his throat when she slides the wedding ring off, holding it up for his inspection. 

“I think she would look rather nicely, sitting upon a throne.” 

His own face is threatening to break into a smile even as he asks in the most even tone he can muster, “Are you sure?” 

She holds out her hand and he gives her his, into which she places the ring. With both hands, she gently closes his fist around it, squeezing as she blinks tears out of her eyes and gives him yet another smile. 

“Gladion, you have sacrificed so much in your life; this is the least that is owed to you.” She holds his gaze, growing somber for just a moment before she leans forward, placing a kiss on his forehead. “Do not let your love rot when it can finally bloom.” 

He hugs her, and she is small and fragile but here and happy. With a final farewell, he stands, leaving her to rest, lying back on the pillows with a smile. 

When he steps out, Moon is waiting for him in her usual spot in the hallway. He slides the ring into his pocket and takes a moment to admire her, how the setting sun makes her skin glow, makes her eyes a softer gray. She’s shed her usual armor, Wicke having put her on a mandatory vacation since their return (though she refuses to give up her sword, or her spot at his side). A small, golden star is pinned to her tunic, the medal of honor that Lillie awarded her on behalf of their mother. 

She is every bit the hero and knight and woman that he knows her to be, and she finally seems to know it, too, holding herself high but relaxed, blending well with the rest of the palace. 

When her head tilts with the silent question, he hesitates, giving her a nervous smile. 

“Let’s take a walk.” 

* * *

The garden is neat and full of life now, restored to a state even better than their mother left it. The cobblestone path they take is quiet, shaded by trees and following the path of a small, babbling brook. Everything about it is peaceful, and he imagines for a moment the two of them, hair gray with age but mouths still quick to bicker, walking arm in arm along the same path. 

He takes a deep breath, feeling the weight of the ring in his pocket. 

“She’s vastly improving, though the doctors say she may never fully recover. They’ve advised against having her take the throne once more.” 

Moon hums, hands clasped behind her back as she gives a bird flying past their head a lopsided smile. “I can’t imagine she’d usurp you after everything you’ve done for Aether.” 

“No, she says she’s content to simply advise my sister and I as we move forward in our lives.” 

“Did she offer anything useful today?” She looks at him out of the corner of her eye, and it’s clear they’re both thinking the same thing with the way she forces her voice to be lofty. It turns deadpan a moment later, giving him a smirk. “Because heaven knows I’ve tried to knock sense into you before.” 

He laughs, nodding his head as he turns his attention back to his own steps. “She did.” 

They reach the main grove of trees, the scent of their blooms filling the air. He stops, and she does as well, about to ask him when he pulls the ring out and holds it up, the gold glinting in the setting sun. 

“She gave me this as well.” 

For a moment she’s silent, staring at the ring with wide eyes. Then her eyes meet his, sees the soft adoration that has taken over his face, and she’s smiling shyly. 

“Are you going to ask me again?” she whispers, eyes glinting in mischief. 

He hums, smirking as he counters, “Are you going to reject me again?” 

A giggle falls from her lips, and she’s stepping back, turning to walk further into the grove before throwing him a look over her shoulder, expression a show of faux haughtiness. “Well, I can accept on a few conditions.” 

He sweeps an arm wide, begins to weave his own way through the grove, walking around the other side of the tree she’s stopped at. “Then please, let’s open the floor to negotiations.” 

They’re grinning at each other, and she continues her walk, hand on the trunk of a tree as she peers at him from around it. “I continue my training as a knight, even if I no longer have to serve as one.” 

“Who else will show the new recruits what it really means to be an archer?” He leans his body against the trunk, face inches from hers for just a moment before giving her a wink and turning on his heel. “If that’s the case, then I fully expect you to join me on every hunt, and to allow me to accompany you on all of your scientific expeditions.” 

She hums, as though truly deliberating. “I’m willing to make that compromise – so long as I can continue teaching you Alolan and improving your accent.” 

“That works out nicely, because I insist on meeting your mother as soon as possible, and I need to know every word she tells me of your embarrassing childhood stories.” 

“Now onto additional clauses.” 

They’ve worked their way towards the center of the grove, and he spots the lone magnolia tree before them, and so as she speaks, he begins to wander towards it. She follows him, and then seems to catch his idea and dashes forward, hiding herself behind the magnolia. 

“For this to work, you have to find me pretty, despite my scars and callouses.” 

He walks around to her, leaning an arm above her as he takes one of her hands and raises it to her lips. 

“You’re beautiful and always will be,” he whispers against the knuckles of her fingers, and she’s rolling her eyes but flushing all the same. When she withdraws her hand, he walks to the other side, waiting for her to follow as he leans against the trunk. “You’ll have to find me charming, despite my short temper and closed-off nature.” 

She makes him wait for a moment, to the point that he turns his head to see if she’s still there, only for her to lunge from the other side, placing a kiss on his cheek before he can even realize. When he looks back at her, on the verge of a laugh, she grins. “You’re the best conversationalist I’ve ever met, and warm when it matters most.” 

They grow still, and she offers her hand to him as he holds up the ring, about to slide it on when he pauses. 

“Before you sign, I should alert you to a hidden benefit.” She raises a brow, urging him to go on, and he tells her with no small amount of glee, “This will absolutely infuriate Faba.” 

She laughs, joyous and bright, and he joins in, feeling the last cracks in his heart mend with the sound. “Then I suppose we _have_ to marry.” 

He slides the ring on as she smiles, and without another word she’s leaning up. 

* * *

And she kisses him, the sleeves of her white wedding gown falling down her arms as she cups his face in her hands, the cheers of the palace fueling her smile. 

Their families sit in front, Lillie standing next to Lusamine, both of them near tears as they clap. Moon’s mother, father, and brother stand next to them, shouting and laughing as they share smiles with the royal family. Behind them, kahunas and other Alolan officials cheer, Hau letting out a long whistle that sends a ripple of laughter through the crowd. Off to the side, Wicke wipes a tear from her eye as Faba glowers next to her, his clap slow and deliberate. 

When they break apart, Moon is sure to give him a direct wave, her smile brilliant and impish as Gladion laughs. 

With their hands interlocked, they walk down the aisle, leaning on each other as the crowd cheers. They shield themselves from the rice being thrown at them, and they exit the castle to a path cleared for them by palace guards. 

The townspeople cheer, shouting their congratulations and their praises for their redemption king and folk hero. Gladion and Moon wave, her veil trailing behind them as they make their way to the dock and board the boat that will take them to the luau prepared in Iki Town. 

As they wave to those on shore from the back of the boat, one hand wrapped around the other, Gladion looks down at her with a smile. He places a kiss on her temple, and she melts into his touch, grinning when he mumbles, pulling her closer, “I suppose I really can’t have you dismissed now.” 

“No, it would seem we’re stuck together,” she hums, looking up at him and knowing this is exactly where she has always belonged. 

The sea stretches before them, meeting the sky and creating a vast frontier as far as they can see, bathing them in the same blue. 

“Together it is, then.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> every fairy tale has to end in death or wedding, and luckily for us this one went the wedding route
> 
> thank you all for reading along, this has been an AU that I've had in my folders for well over a year now and it feels so good to finally get it out and have other people enjoying it, too <3 be sure to check out the other works for this week if you haven't already!


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